


"Magical" is the word

by TyalanganD



Series: I was born with it [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deception, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Magic is viewed as a disorder, Past Child Abuse, Restraints, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Some Fluff, Some angst, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28173078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyalanganD/pseuds/TyalanganD
Summary: Arthur has always thought Uther just wants to help all those poor magical children. After all, magic is dangerous, and it has to be quenched to save the individual. That's what Arthur and Morgana have been told all their lives. But when Arthur reads an interview with a magical self-advocate, Merlin Emrys, he starts to doubt his father for the first time in his life.Needless to say, he has to meet with this Merlin. If only Arthur wasn't a son of a man whose whole company is dedicated to "curing" the magical people...
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon/Sophia (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: I was born with it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063883
Comments: 38
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep the spelling consistent, but if it gets weird at times, I'm sorry.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This work probably wouldn't have been written if it wasn't for the Destiny and Chicken, the Merlin podcast by Fascination and Frustration, and the food for thought about the plot and the characters the episodes gave me. If you don't know it yet, go listen to it! :)

_The video shows happy children running on their parents’ lawn. They play hide-and-seek, looking straight into the camera and laughing. The background music is idyllic, something taken straight from a mindfulness meditation soundtrack._

_Suddenly, one boy comes forth, staring straight into the camera. His expression changes, and he starts crying for no obvious reason. The music changes as well, now resembling an ominous tune from a horror movie. Even the colors in the video seem to fade. Then, there comes the voiceover._

_“I am magic.  
I came to take your child.  
I am unpredictable, I am hard to control.  
I will take away your kid’s happiness.”_

_A boy’s mother comes into view. She takes the kid into her arms, smiling reassuringly, defiant of the music, the faded colors, the crying._

_“We will beat you, magic!” she says. “We are parents who love our children. We won’t let you take their lives. With the help of Magic Now, we will win this battle. Our children will be cured.”  
The cheerful music resumes. The colors return to the video. The child stops crying. A huge logo of Magic Now appears on the screen: a red cartoonish dragon._

Furiously, Merlin shuts his laptop, the video still running on the screen, showing support line phone numbers and other contact information for the company. He then buries his head in his pillow, his left hand punching the mattress in regular heartbeats.   
It’s better than punching the wall, after all.

*** 

_UTHER PENDRAGON DISPELS MYTHS SURROUNDING MAGIC_

_“Contrary to what some are trying to say, magic is a genetic disorder,” the Magic Now founder says in the newest interview, “but we can fix it”_

Morgana scrolls over the article, disinterested. It isn’t the first time her father has been accused of spreading lies about magic. And Morgana isn’t even surprised. In the photo linked to the article, Uther looks almost as if he was very much inclined to murder someone, let alone lie. As to whether it is the interviewer or some magical who deserved his death-stare, Morgana isn’t sure.

What catches her attention though, is another interview which pops up to the right, as the intelligent algorithm worked out immediately what Morgana’s key words of interest are. The title reads simply:

_A MAGICAL SELF-ADVOCATE ENCOURAGES TO BOYCOTT MAGIC NOW_

Morgana clicks impatiently. The photo attached to the interview is of a young, skinny man with a mop of black hair and ridiculously big ears. The caption reads: _Merlin Emrys, 23, a magical and a self-advocate._ The man is smiling, looking straight into the camera. Morgana snorts.

“Magical, indeed,” she mutters to herself. As if to mirror the thoughts that immediately appear in her head, the first question of the interview reads:

**What is the most common thing you hear when you tell people you have magic?**

_Mostly “you don’t look magical”. People just have this stereotypical idea of a magical person in their heads, you know. They expect you to walk down the street in a pointy hat [laughs]. No, but really, if I asked anyone who ever heard about magic to give me a shortlist of characteristics of a magical person, they would probably come up with an image of a young man with a shifty look, eyes constantly flashing bright gold, muttering spells to himself all the time, and probably dangerous to others. This is the image the pop culture gives us, this is what some threaten us will happen to our kids – as if magic was some kind of disease you catch – and finally, this is the image a certain “clinic” promotes very actively and very aggressively._

**You are referring, of course, to Magic Now?**

_Yes. I have seen their newest campaign ad. It is, frankly speaking, disgusting. (…)_

Morgana stops reading. She’s breathing hard. She isn’t even sure what she feels, exactly: it probably isn’t anger, not entirely. Fear, maybe? Mostly, she’s indignant. Indignant on behalf of her father who can be a difficult person at times, but who, after all, is just trying to help. 

She knows that Magic Now ads are sometimes heavy-handed. But surely, some heavy-handedness is necessary to get a message through? She knows that magical kids aren’t all the same. Some are more eloquent and in control of their powers, some totally detached from the reality, focused only on the tricks they could play with their fingers, moving objects around, or, worse, lighting fires. Some don’t speak at all, only flashing their eyes gold when they don’t like what the adults say, causing glasses to break or even pushing people away with the sheer force of their minds.

Mordred falls into the last category.

And Morgana, who is Mordred’s therapist, really wishes this stupid Merlin spent just half an hour with the kid. The guy can be advocating all he likes. He’s probably some borderline case with little magic, but Morgana has seen low-functioning kids who had been touched by the affliction so severely it took control over them almost entirely. Morgana wonders if this Merlin would be so keen on advocating for them, as well.

She scrolls through the interview. It only gets better. Merlin describes his short encounter with a magical therapy promoted by Uther, and claims he had been traumatized in the process.

_And Uther is supposed to be responsible for every bad therapist out there, is he?_ Morgana thinks.

She copies the link to the interview and sends it to Arthur. The title of the message:

_Do you think it can harm us?_

And just as she sends it, she realizes there is another feeling sitting deep down in her chest. It’s very uncomfortable, nagging her like a pin and piercing her gut with anxiety. She can’t find a single name for the sensation, but she recognizes it instantly.

It is a what-if-I-am-defending-Father-only-because-I-feel-compelled-to-and-maybe-this-Merlin-is-at-least-a-bit-right kind of thing.

Swallowing guilt, Morgana opens a new tab and begins her secret search. She’ll clear the browsing history later.

_Magic signs in adult women newest research_

***

Morgana has never been a shy child.

Adored by her father – doubly so because he won a battle over her with her mother when they divorced – and undoubtedly privileged. Sent to private schools and showered with gifts, Morgana had a rather cozy childhood, if one didn’t count the divorce (which she barely remembered, anyway) and a certain bratty little brother who came to this world when she was five to tease and taunt her ever since. She has been given different labels throughout the years: that of a tomboy (when she refused to play a princess and decided she wanted to be a knight, just like Arthur), of an impertinent brat (thus by a teacher whom she asked, rather brusquely, to lower the tone of her voice during classes; Uther didn’t appreciate the teacher’s retort at all and he was forced to find a new job), a bookworm (when, at the age of ten, she decided that she was now officially done playing and was going to learn the whole history book by heart), or even a coquette (when, at sixteen, she realized that in order to win a popularity contest among her peers she had to wear makeup, sport mini skirts and have a predatory look). 

She has never been called magical. After all, her eyes didn’t flash gold; she didn’t move objects with the power of her mind, and she was rather sociable. The magicals, Uther had always said, were unable to form deep interpersonal connections. The magic just took over their minds and debilitated them.

Except this one time in high school, Morgana was so stressed out that the window shattered.

She had always been a good learner, and she usually didn’t need much effort to obtain good grades. She sometimes made stupid mistakes, but that was only carelessness. But she hated being judged in front of others. And in high school, the competition grew stronger. Everyone wanted to graduate with the best grades and it created an atmosphere of a battle. From this time, Morgana remembers being jealous of Arthur who seemed to be coping with pressure much better than she was. He’d say she exaggerated. Also, that he didn’t cope well at all. She couldn’t believe him. 

Because it was hard not to exaggerate when a teacher asked her a question, and she knew the answer, but nevertheless, she was so stressed out her mouth just refused to open, and then, she got so frustrated, and the window shattered, just like that.

It was written off as an uncanny coincidence. After all, Morgana’s eyes didn’t flash gold, and there was no indication of her muttering any spell. Uther denied any magical allegations as harmful slander.  
Then, Morgana went to uni, and chose Psychology as her major, because really, what else could she do? Even Arthur started off as a psychologist, only later changing to Economy, disappointing Father in the process. He didn’t have the gist. But she had.

During her studies, she read tons of articles on magic, written mostly by doctors funded by Magic Now, or by professors who agreed with the company’s line. But there were very few ones which posited adventurous theories. Magic is not a disorder, they said, it is merely an alternate path of development; there are many ways to experience magic and not all of them look the same; a person who moves objects around by the power of their mind is just as magical as a seer; and, finally, it’s a myth that women can’t be properly magical.

Morgana still remembers her tutor, professor Gaius, dismissing it all with a wave of hand.

“All those new theories,” he used to say, “omit one crucial problem. That magic makes life difficult. It is hardly a thing to be proud of. Are they going to write that cancer is an alternate path of human development, too?”

So, Morgana didn’t have the courage to bring up the topic again. Nor did she have the guts to ask Gaius about prophetic dreams, not when he was shooting her The Look from below his single raised eyebrow. She began having nightmares right about this time. Only, some of them were about the future. Like when Arthur broke his leg when he was biking to high school and she dreamt about it two nights before. 

She still remembers how frightened she was then. And how relieved she was when her doctor prescribed her some Zolpidem and it helped, at least mostly.

She never had the courage to bring up the topic to Uther.

Morgana clicks the first link that popped up in google.

_Magic and women. Why are we overlooked? By Elena Godwyn_

_When I was a teenager, a therapist told me I had been possessed,_ the article reads. _I was clumsy and didn’t show much interest in “girly” stuff. The possession explanation seemed like the most obvious one at the time, when everyone believed women with magic were just hysterical witches and not “properly” magical. I only discovered my true powers later in life._

A buzz interrupts Morgana. She shoves her laptop aside, panicking. She looks at the phone screen, taking a full breath. It could be Uther, calling from work. But thankfully, it’s not him.

It’s Arthur.

***

Arthur can’t help but look at the photo for a few good minutes.

The guy just seems so… innocent? Adorable? Definitely not pained by his condition (that is, if he really has it). And his words are eloquent. Of course, it’s not like the interview is a video, so Arthur can’t really say how much it was edited. 

But there is something about the guy. The blue eyes, maybe? The ears? He’s smiling so broadly there are dimples in his cheeks, and Arthur can’t help but trace the line of his full lips with his finger. He swallows and bites on his thumb. He feels guilty for even considering this. _What would Father say? That I’m having the hots for someone magically afflicted? I’m disgusting. And I have a girlfriend!_

And he probably should hate the guy, anyway. Though Uther never said he hated people with magic – he just wanted to help them – the whole magical therapy program, the one at which Morgana excelled to Father’s delight, was designed to help the magical kids quench the affliction, subdue it, and prepare them for a normal life, not to leave them alone and let them flaunt their magic, like this Merlin seems to be doing. Pride only leads to two things: detachment from society or danger – to oneself and to others. That is a mantra Arthur heard far too often in his life.

He still remembers the day Father took him to the clinic. He was eight and there was no one to pick him up from school that day, their housekeeper having taken a sick leave, so Uther drove little Arthur back to his job, leaving him in the receptionist’s care.

Arthur can still see them, the kids: curled in the waiting room, reluctant to leave their corners, fidgeting and snapping their fingers, creating small fires, or, worse, lashing out, screaming.

“You cannot blame them,” Uther said, sensing fear in Arthur. “The poor unfortunates. That’s what magic did to them.”

It was curious, because Father had never said you cannot blame him about Arthur when he got reprimanded at school, or when his grades weren’t good enough. He also never got much pity for his misfortunes. In some twisted corner of his mind, Arthur was envious of the magicals who had been labeled dangerous anyway. At least, they could scream, or cry when something bad happened.

So, Arthur had reasons to feel aversion towards the magicals from an early age. But it only got worse later.

Arthur was never much good with people, or emotions, or listening. Morgana was far better at that. He preferred concrete disciplines, with clear input and output, and although Uther always claimed that his therapy was just that – teaching the appropriate response to certain stimuli – for Arthur, it just seemed like too intangible a discipline. There were people involved, for goodness’ sake, and people are so complicated. 

Mathematics, for instance, was much better. Or sports. When Arthur was a kid, he wanted to be an athlete. Father made sure that never happened. Then, he decided he liked maths. Father pushed for psychology, instead. At last, they came to a kind of an uneasy agreement: there was no denying Arthur won’t be a good psychologist, so he could as well quit trying; but he might help Uther’s company in other ways. Economy it was, then. And once he graduated, he was to take care of Magic Now’s finances.

And now, for some reason, apparently, of their public image as well?

“Why did you send it to me, sis?” asks Arthur over the phone. “I’m not the PR guy.”

“Oh, come on, Arthur. We both know Leon won’t even be bothered by some… outspoken boy. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why should I be bothered? This is just one person. We are a huge company.”

“Did you read it all? The accusations he makes… well, they’re quite serious.”

“He just invented them, didn’t he? I mean, you should know best what happens during the therapy. It doesn’t look like that, does it?” asking the question, Arthur glances at the photo again. Merlin’s disarming, broad smile hits him in the face. This is not a smile of someone who’s accustomed to lying, he thinks. But then again, I was never good at reading people. _Father was right about this. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions so hastily._

He only then realizes that Morgana’s been silent for quite a while now.

“Sis? Are you still there?”

A sigh.

“Yes,” Morgana’s voice is almost a whisper. “The problem is… well, I can’t imagine doing anything like that during my therapy sessions… but you see, it’s not unthinkable. I mean, the program developed by Father can be implemented in many different ways. I suppose, if an overeager therapist decided to enact it…”

“Are you saying this could have happened?” Arthur feels blood running to his face. This is impossible. His whole life, he lived in his father’s shadow, and it was a shadow of charity, goodwill and eagerness to help those with affliction. He would have noticed that something was amiss, would he?

_You were never good with people, Arthur,_ Uther’s voice reverberates in his head.

“I’m going to meet with this Merlin,” says Arthur unexpectedly, even for himself.

“Wait… what?” Morgana sounds scared. “Do you really think it’s a good idea? What if the media find out? What if Dad does?”

“This guy can start some massive boycott campaign anyway,” says Arthur. “Maybe it’ll be better if someone talks him out of it… maybe you, sis? You know I’m not good…”

“…with people, yes, I know. Do you really think he’ll be willing to hear a magical therapist, though?”

“Fair point. It’ll have to be me, then.”

“Arthur, what if this guy asks you for money? What if he blackmails you?”

_He doesn’t look like someone who’d do that._ Arthur shoves the thought aside.

“Then I’ll think what to do. I may be able to negotiate with Dad. Money’s better than ruining our image, I suppose.”

“Arthur, if Dad finds out…”

“Don’t worry, sis. Unless this… Merlin wants money, he won’t. I can be incognito, you know. I’ve watched a ton of spy movies.”

“This isn’t funny.”

Arthur’s face is sober. He looks at Merlin’s photo again and something twists in his heart, painfully, uncomfortably.

“I know it isn’t. I bloody know.”

*** 

**So, how did the therapy look?**

_At first, it started off quite simple. My mother couldn’t cope… with my abilities, you know. It was just too much for her. She’s a loving mother, but it was only her and me, and she needed help. She couldn’t afford a half-decent therapist before, but when I turned eight, there was this new program developed. Magic Now. And they had really great support for families who couldn’t exactly afford a therapy in other circumstances. So she subscribed me to the program._

_The therapist… I won’t disclose his name… he was very friendly at first. Asked me about all my symptoms. I told him about moving objects, even about stopping time for mere seconds when I didn’t want something to fall on the floor. Back then, when I was stressed out, I used to flap my hands, and it sometimes created images in the air, you know, made of mist and the like… I made butterflies, I changed the colors of the flowers. It relaxed me. But the first thing I heard from the therapist, is that I shouldn’t be doing this anymore._

_He spoke a lot about “appropriate responses”. Apparently, creating butterflies is not an appropriate response for stress. Because, you know, the majority of people don’t do that. I am unlucky to be in a minority, and I was a child back then, so I didn’t have much to say._

_It was like dog-training, really. Every time I showed an inappropriate response, I was punished. Not very severely, at first. They would just take my favorite toy away, or they won’t give me a treat. On the contrary, when the response was “appropriate” – that is to say, not magical – I would be given the toy back, or a candy would appear on the table. I learned that my reactions were fundamentally bad._

**How long did it last, the therapy?**

_For me? Three years. But there are kids out there who have to endure it for much longer. Because, you see, it didn’t really work. It seems like common sense that when a magical person can’t control their powers, they can do harm to themselves and to others: start a fire, break things and such. One would say it’s good to teach them to channel their powers into something else instead. But in my case, that wasn’t a worry. My natural response to stress was to play with light or to watch butterflies, not to incinerate people. But when that was taken from me, my powers – which, contrary to what Uther Pendragon says, can’t be quenched, only suppressed – had to find some other channel. I started harming myself. Cuts would appear on my body, even though I didn’t have a knife. And once, I made a crack in a wall so big, people had to flee the room, fearing that the wall would fall. Nobody in the Magic Now program would admit that it was a result of their therapy. They deemed me violent and dangerous. My therapist would lock me up in a “silent room”, you know, one of those rooms the size of a coffin laden with led and other magical barriers, so my powers would be quenched “until I calm down”… I suppose my therapist would gladly keep me there forever._

**May I ask how your mother reacted to all that?**

_She was very worried. For a long time, she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t an expert, and therefore, she had nothing to say. But there came a time, in the third year of my therapy, when I stopped talking altogether. You may imagine how anxious she was. She demanded a seeing with my therapist, who tried to explain the matter by saying that it was an important and difficult moment in my recovery process, that it was necessary for the positive outcome, and such like. But my mother’s instinct prevailed and she pulled me out of therapy. It was only later that I slowly recovered enough to tell her everything that happened there. She was furious. I suppose she would have sued them, but she knew she didn’t stand a chance. Such practices aren’t illegal. And the understanding of magic is very poor even now. It was even worse back then._

_All in all, I was still pretty lucky to have my loving Mum who wasn’t afraid to act. Other children, sadly, don’t have that opportunity._

Merlin sighs and stretches on his bed. The interview, it seems, became quite popular in the web, with dozens of magic support communities sharing it and warning magical children’s parents about Magic Now. Merlin fulfilled his goal. So why is he so devilishly tired?

He curls under the blanket, his favorite pillow pressed to his chest. For the last few weeks, he’s felt as if he was back in that room, the therapist looking at him sternly, his single eyebrow raised at him, judging. The nightmares returned and Merlin has been sleeping badly. Now, he feels too tired to even get up and get some breakfast.

“Merlin, darling?” Mum’s voice comes from the door. “Are you all right?”

“Hmph.” Speaking seems like too much. Sometimes, when Merlin is overwhelmed, he just moves objects with his eyes – it takes much less energy – and tries communicating that way. Now, his laptop floats in the air. Hunith catches it and, before she puts it back onto Merlin’s desk, she glances at the screen.

“Don’t torture yourself with that, my dear,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking his back. From behind the pillow, he glances at her worried face. She has that look again, a look which he hasn’t seen for many years since she pulled him from therapy, but which came back lately. The look of guilt. He hates seeing her like that. Years ago, she told him she couldn’t forgive herself for walking her son straight into the lion’s den, to Magic Now Camelot Therapy Centre. But how was she supposed to know…? And Gaius was the world-class expert, they said. A professor. 

“You don’t torture yourself,” manages Merlin, mumbling into his pillow. “I regret this interview.”

“You did the right thing,” says Hunith, bending over him, hugging his back. “My brave, beautiful son who always wants to help others.”

He smiles faintly, flapping his left hand. A blue butterfly appears in his palm and Merlin feels magic running through his veins. It’s warm and calming. The butterfly walks on his forearm warily, and Merlin’s skin tickles. There are scars on his wrists. Scars he could have healed with help of some skilled magician, perhaps, but which he decided to keep instead.

Because they are proof. Proof that the therapy doesn’t work.

“Darling, maybe you want to meet up with Will someday?” Mom asks. “It’ll get your mind off things, you know.”

Will, his best friend. The one single person he knows almost everything about, and one person who somehow manages to cope with Merlin’s magic without shunning him, or fearing him, or laughing. Will, on whom Merlin developed a rather hopeless crush in high school, which turned out even more hopeless when Will agreed to try some sex, and awkwardness ensued, and Merlin was totally unable to control his magic, and almost set a room on fire. Fortunately, even that didn’t scare Will away. But Merlin became friendzoned forever, anyway.

_If only I wasn’t so broken back then, we would have had awesome magical sex by now,_ thinks Merlin ruefully. _And so, back to negative thoughts._

“Merlin?” Mum’s hand stops stroking.

“Will’s busy,” mutters Merlin. The butterfly flies away from his hand and lands on the window sill. Mum will have to let it out later. “And anyway, it’s no good.”

He’s getting some attention now. There are all those people writing to him, pro-magical people, inviting him to take part in their video series about magic, or to write articles for their websites. They’re even organizing a conference, and they want him to be one of the speakers. They are freelancers – unlike Magic Now, they don’t have any funding. But they are very energetic, with a strong sense of purpose and heads full of ideas, crowdfunding all their events and pushing for the change in legislation. Merlin admires them. And whether he wants it or not, he’s one of them now. But this is all rather overwhelming.

“Darling, you have to give yourself a break,” says Mum. “You can’t save the whole world.”

“No,” Merlin answers, “but it’s worth trying.”


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin is terrified of the conference.

The interview was at least transcribed. There was no video and no one, apart from a very sympathetic interviewer (who, himself, was magical), saw him tremble, magic flickering under his skin, glasses moving on the table. Nobody heard him stutter when he talked about the therapy. Now, he’ll be there on the stage for everyone to see, and he’ll be recorded, and people will be asking questions and he won’t know how to answer them. It has every chance to be a total disaster.

And yet, Merlin agrees to participate, because what else can he do? He would have come to the conference anyway, and now, after the interview, it would just be silly to sit there and say nothing. And all of the speakers will be people with magic as well. _His_ people. He can meet them, ask them how they manage to control their powers and use them for good. He can learn so many things.  
So, he doesn’t hesitate. He accepts, he writes his speech, polishes it for two good weeks until Will tells him to just stop it already (he knows the whole passages by heart at this point), and when the time comes to go, Merlin says goodbye to Mum almost as if he was supposed to travel to the next continent, not to the other part of the city.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to be there and listen to you?” asks Hunith.

“Quite sure,” Merlin says decidedly.

***

“Arthur, this is illegal.”

He’s browsing the clinic computers. It’s 9 p.m., a day before the Magical Conference (title: _Nothing About Us Without Us_ ), where a certain Merlin Emrys is supposed to give a speech titled _Managing The Magical Powers Without Breaking a Person_ , at 1 p.m., in the third slot. Arthur and Morgana are sitting in the clinic’s now officially closed reception room (Gwen, the receptionist, has been most kind and pretended not to be worried when Morgana dismissed her earlier and also took the keys), and Arthur is doing something which nobody has a right to do, that is, looking at other people’s therapy records.

At first, he just wanted to check if the clinic even had any Merlin Emrys in its archives. If it all wasn’t just a hoax.

Then, it kind of got out of control.

“Sis, look at that!” Arthur cries out, and Morgana has to shush him. “He’s been treated by Gaius. _The_ Gaius.”

“Jesus.” Morgana touches her temples. A headache is coming. Probably also nightmares, later. “Arthur, you can’t be looking at this. It’s confidential.”

“It’s not like the bloke makes a secret of what happened there, you know,” Arthur mutters, scrolling. “I just want to check if he’s telling the truth.”

“Seems like he is,” Morgana points to the screen. “There! Look.”

And there it is, all of it: records, all written in a medically impersonal style, about a boy who was slowly learning to redirect his “inappropriate responses”; about an initial success when the boy was seemingly calm and didn’t show “ostentatious” signs of response to stress; and then, suddenly, the cuts appear. God, there were even photos taken at the time. Arthur closes his eyes.

“Morgana,” he says. “What are we all doing here, hm?”

“I… I don’t know.” Her voice is shaky. “I can only say, I’ve never done anything like that. My patients… they don’t cut themselves.”

“Have you checked? Maybe they choose the less visible spots on their bodies?”

Morgana is silent for a while.

Arthur reopens his eyes and reads on.

Until he comes to the “silent room”.

_Having threatened prof. Gaius Higgins with a lightning bolt, he was administered to a specially designed silent room which is equipped with the newest magic taming technology and fully in compliance with the Health & Safety regulations, the report reads. The child was violent throughout the incident, causing punch marks to appear on the therapist’s shoulder, and biting him. The restraint was performed by dr. Aredian Black, who is now to be assisting therapist to the patient._

Morgana is again leaning over Arthur’s shoulder, reading.

“Arthur, this Merlin may be dangerous,” she says at last. “Better to be careful.”

“I am going to a public conference, sis. Full of magicals. But also, full of cameras. Don’t worry.”

“How are you going to talk to him in private, anyway?”

“Erm… I’ll think of something? You should know how this works, you’ve been going to some psychology cons for years. I’m gonna feign some interest in what he’s going to say, and then we’re gonna talk, and… well, maybe I’ll even take him for a coffee.”

Morgana raises her eyebrows. _God, it’s probably good that Sophia is out of town for a couple of days,_ thinks Arthur, terrorized by the thought as soon as it appears in his mind.

“He’s going to know you’re not magical. They know that. Believe me.”

“So what? Can’t I be casually interested in the subject?”

“You’d better be convincing.”

Something tells Arthur that he won’t have to put much effort into that.

Because he is now really, really interested in what the hell is going on in his dad’s clinic.

***

The con starts at 9 a.m., and Merlin’s speech is at 1 p.m. Given how things go at such events, it’s safe to say he won’t start speaking until 2 p.m. at least.

Merlin hates this.

He knows he won’t be able to focus on any lecture which comes before him. He knows the tension will slowly be rising, and if he doesn’t find some good way of relieving it, he’ll end up shattering the windows, or worse, starting a tornado.

Of all the places, this ought to be the one where he should be able to calm down making smoke dragons and butterflies without any shame. But he’s still not used to doing that in public, and he can’t change his habits by the snap of his fingers. It doesn’t work that way.

At the reception, he receives the conference program and his ID – MERLIN EMRYS in bold blue font, there for everyone to see – signs his name on the list, and smiles faintly in the direction of the woman who’s in charge of all that. She has dark hair and a truly lovely smile. 

“Merlin, is it?” she asks, rather redundantly. “I’m Freya.”

“Nice to meet you, Freya,” mumbles Merlin, taking out his right hand in a greeting, only then realizing that he’s clutching the program and the ID, while in his left hand, he has a bag with his speech in it; he tries to rearrange it, fails, until the ID lands on the floor and Merlin’s ears redden.

“Don’t worry,” Freya is completely unabashed by his awkwardness. “Your first con? Everyone’s stressed out at their first public speech. Been there, done that.”

“Really? How long have you been… conferencing?”

“Speaking publicly? Four years now, I think. Right after I discovered I was magical. I’ll be talking about it today, you know. The speech after you.”

“Oh. You discovered you were magical only four years ago?”

“Yeah. I’m a woman, after all.”

“What does it…”

“Oh, I believe you have some catching up to do,” Freya smiles mischievously and Merlin’s ears redden even more. “Don’t worry. We all had to do that. It’s not like we had anyone in our lives to talk to us about magic when we were growing up.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, finally reaching for his ID and hanging it on his neck. “That’s kind of a problem, isn’t it?”

“I suppose… I’ll see you during break, then?” Freya asks and Merlin, to his further embarrassment, discovers that quite a queue has formed behind him while he was talking to her.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, and, Freya?”

“Yeah?”

“Just one question. Do you know where I can… unwind… like, you know, safely? Is there any place for that?”

Her smile is bright and Merlin fights the impulse to hug her, here and now.

“There is a special space,” she says. “You’ll find the directions in your program. You can make your butterflies there.”

Merlin’s ears must be the color of a beetroot by now, and he only later realizes that what Freya said doesn’t meant she’s a seer. She just read his interview. _Damn it, I’m a public figure now._

“There is nothing scary in being different, Merlin,” Freya says before he finally leaves the reception.

***

The conference room is big. Much too big for Merlin’s liking. It looks like all those lecture rooms he was frequenting back at uni, the ones where they taught Philosophy 101 and other stuff which hundreds of students were obliged to attend. This room, however, is only half-full when he enters. Strategically, he chooses a place right in the middle – not too close to the stage, not too far from it. With a sigh, he collapses onto a blue chair. He can already feel magic tickling under his skin in anticipation.

The stage looks… well, stage-y. Exposed. And he’ll have to mount five steps before he gets there. Christ, I’m gonna trip, that’s for sure. There is a lectern in the middle, and at the back of the stage, they put a huge poster with the con’s title and a logo of the foundation that organizes it. The logo is a triskelion, an ancient druid symbol, lately a symbol of magical resistance towards the likes of Uther Pendragon. The letters around it read: _I have magic. I was born with it._

He’s right in the middle of checking out the program – he read it before, but there is nothing better to do with his time – and realizing that indeed, there are instructions on how to get to the “special space” at the back of it – when he’s interrupted by someone who, apparently, decided to sit next to him.

“Hey there,” says a male voice. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Merlin looks up. A guy. A guy with blonde hair, athletically built, a friendly smile on his face. His eyes are… triangular. Almost. And he has the most incredible jaw.

Merlin swallows. His stress notwithstanding, he must say that the man is highly attractive. Merlin has never been very big on the whole “attraction at first sight” thing – his crushes were almost always personality-based – but even he can appreciate handsomeness when he sees it.

“Hi,” he says timidly. “Do I know you?”

 _Of course you don’t, you sod,_ something says in Merlin’s head. _That’s what cons are for. Introducing people._

“N-no,” the guy says uncertainly. “But I know of you. I recognized you… from the interview. Well done.”

Merlin gives him a tight smile. It still sounds so abstract, to be recognized from a newspaper. The guy doesn’t have an ID, which means he’s not one of the lecturers. A fan? _God, do I have fans now?_

“Thank you…?” says Merlin when he realizes that he’s been complimented. “It… seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Bet it was.” The guy sounds pretty enthusiastic and Merlin starts to worry. He never wanted any fame. If he did, he’d become an actor.

“Sorry, what’s your name?” asks Merlin.

“A-Arthur. Arthur… Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” says Merlin politely, shaking his hand. Fortunately, this time, nothing falls to the floor in the process. 

Arthur’s handshake is tight and very bro-like. There is this bro energy all around the man. Merlin swallows again.

“So, you’re magical as well?” he asks.

“No… doesn’t it show?” Arthur looks genuinely surprised.

“Well, no, it doesn’t, at least not at a first glance. That’s kind of the point.” Seeing Arthur frown and shift in his chair uncomfortably, Merlin quickly adds: “No offense, of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay. I don’t know much about magic and I really want to learn.”

“Really?” This time, it’s Merlin’s turn to be surprised. “That’s… uncommon. People usually fear us.”

“I… I know. I’m sorry.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. Arthur is looking at the floor now. Is it Merlin’s imagination, or are his cheeks slightly pinker than before? _What am I counting on?_ Merlin asks himself in his mind. _Another instance of awkward sex with incineration in the process?_

It’s only then that Merlin realizes Arthur’s not looking at the floor after all, but at Merlin’s bare forearms. Right where the scars are. Merlin lets out a puff of air and rolls down his shirtsleeves. 

“I’m sorry,” repeats Arthur. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay, it’s not like it’s private anymore,” says Merlin quickly and a little too angrily. He shouldn’t be mad at the guy. It’s not his fault that Merlin decided to bare himself in front of general public.

“I studied psychology, you know,” says Arthur unexpectedly. “They didn’t tell us much about magic, and when they did… well, you know…”

“…it was all in accordance with Magic Now’s line?” Merlin finishes and smiles. “Yeah. I know. I bet you’ll be happy to hear the first lecturer, then.”

“Who’s that?” Arthur asks and Merlin looks at him, surprised.

“Well… Alice Pots? Professor Alice Pots? The one and only psychologist who’s been positing for years that magic isn’t a disorder?”

“Oh yeah, her,” Arthur says quickly and Merlin can’t shake off a feeling that the guy is bluffing. “Of course. Yeah, I admire her.”

“Right.” _He’s hiding something. I hope he’s not some creepy stalker. On the other hand, why would a creepy stalker come to a magical con and go after ME, at that? Maybe he’s fond of butterflies._

And with this rather odd thought, Merlin doesn’t say anything else, because the first lecture is about to begin.

***

The guy – Merlin – well, he’s just gorgeous.

The truth is, Arthur spotted him at the reception already – it was really hard not to spot him, so tall and lanky, with those ridiculous ears, dropping objects all around himself – and he was instantly taken by his shy, but gentle manner, by his unexpectedly deep voice and… well, by this damn smile. He was an image of pure awkwardness, and Arthur couldn’t help himself and followed him all the way to the conference room. Which was creepy. But also, they were at a public event, so there.

Arthur had experience with guys before, mostly in form of one-night stands, if one didn’t count Gwaine, and nobody could tell if their five-weeks’ worth of a relationship could really count as one, or if it was just a series of one-night stands with a substantial amount of alcohol in between. Other than that – Arthur dated girls, and Sophia, who’s been his girlfriend for a year now, was definitely a stabler choice than any guy he’s met before. And she made Father happy. Which, weirdly, was somewhat important to Arthur.

The truth is, Arthur has never met someone awkward, and yet so painfully attractive at the same time, and here he is, sitting next to this Merlin, who’s apparently set on a goal of ending Uther Pendragon’s career, and the only thing Arthur would like to do is to kiss those full lips, to part them with his tongue, to hear the guy’s gasp… and he can’t be doing that, when he’s here to talk the guy down, to convince him to drop the battle he’s been probably preparing his whole life, and talk him into thinking that Arthur’s father is great.

Or, maybe, at least, that he’s not as terrible as he seems.

When Arthur looks at Merlin’s forearms though, he would gladly give him Uther’s fortune instead.

Arthur can’t reconcile all those feelings. Only weeks ago, he thought of the magicals as of some lesser kind, someone who deserved his pity and help, and definitely not pining after. Oh, there is also pity in Arthur now, sure there is, but it’s not the kind of pity he expected to have. He’s not pitying the fact that Merlin’s been touched by magic. He’s pitying him, as a person.

Arthur looks around. Most of the audience here must be magical, and yet, they just look like… people. Not like his father’s patients who crawl on the corridors of his clinic, hiding under the chairs and muttering angry spells, shooting windblasts at therapists in the process.

Not for the first time in last weeks, a chill goes down Arthur’s spine when he tries to imagine what happened to those patients that made them so desperate.

The right pocket of Arthur’s jacket buzzes slightly. A text from Morgana.

_Pls make notes. I want to know what they say._

_I’ll try, but one thing at a time,_ he writes back. Morgana really wished she could go to the con. But unlike Arthur, she’s an actual psychologist, and one that would be easily recognized as affiliated with Magic Now.

“For years, the magical people were perceived as one of two things,” professor Alice starts with her lecture. She’s a middle-aged lady with hazelnut hair, several strands of silver shining through. “They were either viewed as super-humans with incredible powers, or as dangerous madmen who posed a threat to society. These two images have accompanied us for centuries. But in reality, magical people are far more mundane: especially strong powers are rare, and when recognized and appreciated early, they usually don’t pose any threat. But just as non-magical people, “the magicals” are capable of experiencing trauma, and just as non-magicals, they are at risk of self-harm and depression when their natural abilities, the core of who they are, are not accepted by others.”

Arthur glances at Merlin. The guy looks transfixed, not paying any attention to what’s happening around him anymore, and even his body seems more relaxed now, his long legs stretched before him, the slender fingers of his right hand subconsciously tapping his knee. Arthur suddenly feels warmth radiating from Merlin’s body, not a scorching heat, but good, nice warmth, like a hot water bottle in the middle of winter. There is a subtle flicker of light under Merlin’s finger, and in his eyes… yes, there it is, the famous gold flashing, but it’s not terrifying, as Arthur has grown used to, but… subtle, beautiful. Like an amber stone reflecting the light.

Arthur can’t stop looking.

***

“…and that is what my dream therapy would look like: a therapy created by magicals for magicals, designed specifically to help young people learn about their abilities, to control them and use them creatively, without suppression and unnecessary harm in the process,” professor Alice Pots finishes her lecture.

There is applause. Merlin joins in, half-dazed. He realizes he’s not that stressed anymore. But when he looks at the clock on the wall, it shows only 10 a.m., and he has three more hours of waiting. _Damn, I’ll never be so eloquent on this stage,_ he thinks.

There is a short break which Merlin means to use for the bathroom and maybe a snack. Also, he wants to find Freya somewhere among the crowd. There will be a lunch break just before their speeches, and Merlin intends to spend it with a friendly face, instead of lurking somewhere in the corner, waiting for his anxiety to rip him apart.

But as Merlin stands up, Arthur blocks his way. Throughout the inspiring lecture, Merlin has almost forgotten about his existence. 

The guy is ogling him.

This is beginning to get a bit uncomfortable.

“Do you mind if I…?” Merlin points his finger to the door, and then adds, disarmingly: “I have to pee.”

“Oh, yes. Right. Sorry.” Arthur moves a bit, but not enough for Merlin to pass without brushing Arthur’s knees. Knees which are part of very strong-looking legs. Merlin sighs, frustrated.

When he’s back with a paper plate full of triskelion-shaped biscuits, Arthur’s still there. He’s typing something furiously on his phone, but when he sees Merlin, he shoves the thing aside like a hot coal. Then he gives Merlin a broad smile. He looks like an idiot. A charming idiot, but still.

Though a bit bemused, Merlin doesn’t forget his manners.

“Want a biscuit?” he asks.

“Thank you!” Arthur sounds as if Merlin proposed to him rather than proposing a snack. He takes the biscuit and looks at it suspiciously. “It looks pretty… dietetic.”

“Well, we’re not here to stuff ourselves with food, after all,” Merlin shrugs and sits down. “I’m not really hungry, anyway. Too much stress for that.”

Arthur looks at him somewhat cautiously.

“What are you going to say in your speech?” he asks.

“Wait and see,” Merlin smiles.

“I mean… are you going to say the same thing you did in the interview? Or add something, or what?”

“Well yeah, I’m going to repeat some stuff, obviously,” says Merlin, munching on a biscuit. “I don’t assume everyone has read my interview, I’m not that famous.” He laughs. “But I’m gonna add things as well. Wait and see.”

“Some things about Magic Now? You want people to boycott them, don’t you?”

“I guess every speaker here does,” says Merlin, eyeing Arthur cautiously. The guy seems a bit tense in the jaw now. “It’s hardly news. Why do you want to know so much, anyway?”

“I’m curious.”

“Yeah, I know you are, but you just sound like you are much more interested in my antagonist than in what I have to say about magic.”

“Well, I told you…” Arthur’s smile falters. “I’m a psychologist… and…”

“…yes, yes, exactly, a psychologist. Most of them aren’t like professor Alice, so don’t be surprised when I’m a bit worried.”

“All right, all right,” Arthur waves a hand. “I’ll be patient. I’ll wait for your speech. Are we good or are you gonna pout like that for the rest of the day?”

Merlin looks at him a tad furiously. He feels the tension rising, so he starts tapping his knee. _I was supposed to wait with the safe space till the lunch break, damn it._

“I don’t know,” he says. “You’re a bit of a prat.”

Arthur snorts. He doesn’t look angry, just amused.

“And you’re idiotically self-righteous,” he responds. “You think you’re a bloody Superman who’s going to change the world.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You think you have some superpowers to take down Magic Now all by yourself. I thought it was supposed to be a stereotype. About magicals and superpowers, that is.”

“Oh, shut it!” Merlin feels his fingers go hot. That is never a good sign. “Shut it, or I’ll incinerate you. I’m not joking.”

Arthur looks at him, amusement slowly fading from his face. Is he scared of me? I think he is. The thought is exhilarating and sickening at the same time. There was a reason Merlin omitted threats of blasting Gaius with a lightning bolt from his interview. He knew that, taken out of context, those revelations may serve as yet another proof that magicals were dangerous. That they could trigger fear, a reaction he’s observing right now, looking at Arthur.

Weirdly enough, that gives pause to Merlin’s magic. His hands turn human-warm again, rather than fire-hot. He takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m stressed out today, okay? Don’t provoke me. That’s the least you can do.”

Arthur smiles faintly. He looks really nice right now. _Oh, God. This can’t be happening._

“Okay,” he says. “Sorry, man.” And, very weirdly, Arthur punches him in the arm. Merlin’s magic flickers under his skin. “Cheer up, will you?” adds Arthur awkwardly, a crooked smile on his handsome face.

“How is punching me in the arm supposed to cheer me up? You’re not very good with people, are you?”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. In his eyes, Merlin, surprisingly, spots sadness.

“Yeah, I know. Everyone tells me that.”

Which is an odd confession, coming from a psychologist.

But still, weirdly, it makes Merlin want to cheer Arthur up in turn. But he can’t find the right words, and anyway, the next lecture is just about to begin.


	3. Chapter 3

Right as Arthur is undoubtedly getting some new and awesome content at the conference, Morgana is stuck in her office, with Mordred sitting defiantly in the other chair, swinging his legs, looking at her with his creepy clear blue eyes.

Upon first seeing him, Morgana took him for a little angel, quiet and obedient. She had a good feeling about the whole therapy thing. She was sure she’d find a common language with the boy. But as soon as the door closed and his very much concerned parents stepped out of the room, Mordred screamed, and Morgana landed on the wall.

She was completely entitled to seek help with restraining the boy. Aredian was on duty back then, and it would have taken him little force to put a magic suppressing bracelet on the boy’s hands. He was violent, Morgana had the right to protect herself. And anyway, the bracelet was always better than the led cupboard.

But she didn’t sound the alarm.

Instead, she panted, trying to get up from the floor, eyeing Mordred with widened eyes, looking at him as he – smiled. Yes, it was a very creepy, self-satisfied smile, and a chill went down Morgana’s spine.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

There was no response.

And since that day, every time twice a week for two months, she spent an hour in Mordred’s silent company, unsuccessfully trying to teach him healthy responses to stimuli. Mordred didn’t get swayed by promises of treats. He had a little toy – a plushy bird-like thing which looked like a raven – and when she took it from him, promising he was going to get it back when he responded to her questions, the boy didn’t seem to care. It was only when she turned from him for a moment to put the horrid bird away that Mordred screamed again and she landed on the floor for a second time.

She didn’t call for Aredian even then.

And now, here she is, yet again, the boy creepily staring at her, Arthur away at the con, and Morgana’s mind’s a mess, because she’s desperately trying to focus on the futile therapy, while all the time thinking about this clinic’s past: wondering if Merlin was once in the same room, cutting his wrists, bound, taken away to the led cupboard (Morgana decided that this was the only place that matched Merlin’s description of the “silent room”). And while all this is going on, there is also a different part of Morgana’s mind which reviews the same articles she read a hundred times by now, about women and magic, and how all the authors’ experiences described there matched her own so exactly that it was uncanny.

“Look,” Morgana tries. “We’ve been seeing each other for some time now, Mordred. You know I’m not going to do anything bad to you. Why don’t we focus on the puzzle pieces here, hm? You’ll point to the one that matches the others. No magic, just plain finger pointing. You won’t have to say anything. Just give me a sign that there is something going on in your head, because I know there is.”

Silence. Mordred stares.

“You know, dear, you are making life difficult for yourself. You are trying to prove that you don’t understand my requests, that you’re… challenged. I know you aren’t. You look at me so intelligently. But I can’t write that in my report. I will have to conclude that you don’t get what I say. And that would be a pity, because you could have a good future ahead, and you’re running away from it.”

Mordred is silent.

“Your parents are concerned. They seem nice. But I can’t know if they are nice to you if you don’t tell me. You don’t have to speak. I can give you pictures, and you will point to them. Do you want to do that? If you need any help, this is a safe space. Your parents won’t know what you told me.”

Silence.

“Oh, Mordred,” Morgana sighs. She really tries not to avoid the boy’s stare, but it’s hard to do, especially when he gazes like that, intensely, unblinking. The look really seems to be a part of his magic, somehow. “Will you ever let me get through to you?”

Silence.

And then, an idea comes to Morgana’s head.

“Is there something you do to calm yourself down, Mordred? When you came here, you just screamed. But I don’t believe that’s it. What magical stuff do you do that helps you keep balance? Is it the staring? I don’t think so, it seems too intense. What do you do?”

_I used to play with water._

The voice belongs to the boy, it must. It’s solemn, but childish. Except, it can’t belong to Mordred, because he didn’t open his mouth. Morgana heard it in her head. 

She blinks. Mordred smiles, and it’s hard to say if it’s a creepy or a lovely smile. Could be both.

“Did you say something?” Morgana asks, nervous. “Or did I imagine it?”

Silence.

“You said you used to play with water, is that right?” she tries, cautious.

Mordred’s face immediately lights up.

_I did._

Again, the voice is in her head. But now she knows already. This is how he communicates. _If it’s true, then maybe other magical children that don’t speak can do it as well? Maybe we’ll somehow find the way to talk to them?_

 _You can hear me, but others can’t. I tried._ Mordred’s voice again.

“Did you read my thoughts?” Morgana is now panicking. If the boy has this ability – then, God, he could have read any number of things. About Merlin, Arthur, the clinic…

“Mordred, eavesdropping is rude,” she adds. She has an impulse to punish the boy somehow, as she’s supposed to, but she has no idea how, and anyway, there is some part of herself that tells her maybe it’s not a good idea after all. “Instead of listening to what I’m thinking, why don’t you show me how you used to play with water? There is a full glass on the table.”

 _No, you shouldn’t be doing that, you shouldn’t encourage him,_ she thinks, but at the same time, what harm can one glass of water really do, even if it splashes on the floor? 

What would have happened if, years ago, professor Gaius had asked Merlin to make him some butterflies, instead of prohibiting it?

Mordred closes his eyes, and Morgana observes as the glass floats above the table, and then swirls in the air. She’s just about to stop the boy, afraid that he’s going to do another mischief, smash the glass on the wall or something – but soon, she looks at a tiny whirlpool in the water, and how it leaves the glass, dancing in the air, until at last, instead of splashing on the floor, it disperses and rains down on Morgana and Mordred, wetting their cheeks. The boy opens his eyes and there is pure joy in them. He’s much more relaxed in his chair now. Morgana smiles broadly.

“That was amazing, Mordred. Well done.”

_My parents won’t let me do that. They say it’s freaky._

“I will talk to them, I promise. From now on, playing with the water is permitted. You happy about that?”

Mordred nods.

“So why don’t you help me with this puzzle?” she points to the table, where the abandoned pieces scream to be used and made whole. She wonders if she’s asking Mordred too soon, but it’s worth the risk.

The boy nods again and takes one of the pieces, putting it right in the middle.

“Perfect,” says Morgana, suddenly madly happy. “It’s a perfect match.”

***

He shouldn’t have gone to this bloody con.

The more Arthur hears and observes, the more he sees how stupid an idea it was to assume this one guy can pose any threat against Father’s company. If Arthur really wanted to fight with all the opposition against Magic Now, he should blackmail every single speaker at this con, including professor Alice. Arthur must have been living in a bubble. Merlin by far definitely wasn’t the only one to have bad experiences with Magic Now therapy and to go public with it. Merlin’s language in the interview was strong, that was true (because he was self-righteous, the bastard!), but the things he described, after three hours of listening to the talks and the questions, started to look to Arthur rather like a part of a pattern than an exception. _And who would have thought, if Morgana hadn’t sent me the link, I would still know nothing about it._

Arthur is a man of finance, not of psychology, after all.

But the more he listens, the more he understands Merlin’s passion and indignation. And he doesn’t really want to prevent Merlin from speaking any more, because after all, what worse things can he say that the other people haven’t said already?

As to Merlin, he seems more and more agitated by the minute. When the last talk before the lunch break comes, he doesn’t look like he’s listening to it, really, fidgeting with his pen and going through the printed version of his own speech, adding some last-minute notes on the margins. Arthur would really like to say something to make things better for him, but he stops himself. He doesn’t want to repeat the same arm-punching awkwardness. _It worked with Gwaine,_ he thinks ruefully.

But Merlin is a very different type of person.

He seems delicate and sharp in an equal measure. He looks like a guy who really could incinerate Arthur if he wanted to, but who chooses to be nice instead. God only knows why, really. With the stuff he went through, Arthur really wouldn’t be surprised if Merlin became a terrorist, threatening to put a bomb under Magic Now’s facilities.

But he’s just not this kind of guy.

Instead, he chose to speak, to advocate, to fight with words even though he’s stressed out about public speaking. Arthur admires that. He’s never had much problems with social anxiety, but he knows what bravery is. And how hard it is to be brave when you’re really, really scared.

Like, for instance, right now, a thought creeps up his mind. That after this con is over, he’ll have to talk to his father and challenge him. Ask him what does the whole charity mantra have to do with subduing magicals, pushing them to cut themselves, denying who they are.

At this thought, Arthur’s heart begins to pound harder in his chest.

Conflicts with Uther are hard. It’s either his way or the highway, always has been. After several futile attempts at arguing, Arthur learned not to challenge him, at least not openly. The one and only thing Father has ever agreed to concede to – the change of the degree – happened only when he himself saw how rubbish Arthur was at psychology. Uther probably only did that because he didn’t want his son to humiliate him.

 _Maybe it’s easier to be brave when you have someone to support you,_ thinks Arthur, glancing at Merlin. _He said he had a good mother._

Well, Morgana has been there with Arthur from the beginning, but it was different. She was always the first to argue with Uther, but also, Father was more lenient towards her. Maybe because she’s a girl. Father somehow never expected Morgana to be his copy. But it was her who made him proud, not Arthur.

And now they’re both going to destroy him. He has nothing but them, his first wife has left him, his second wife is dead – and they are going to destroy the one source of his pride, the company.

Yeah, Arthur really wishes he had Merlin’s bravery. 

***

When the time for the lunch comes, a petite girl walks to their row of seats. She introduces herself as Freya and talks to Merlin for a minute, discussing the lectures. When Merlin starts pointing out some highlights in professor Alice’s speech, Arthur has an opportunity to see how the guy underestimates his talents. Sure, he’s still stressed out, but when he speaks about stuff that interest him, his eyes literally light up gold and all the awkwardness is gone. He’s glowing. If only he could do that later, with all those people looking at him. 

_Am I just rooting for him?_ Arthur asks himself. _Yes, I am. I bloody am. Fuck._

“All right then, come to lunch,” says Freya to Merlin at last.

“Can I go with you two?” asks Arthur uncertainly. 

“Sure you can,” responds Freya. Merlin frowns a little, Arthur sees.

“I-I don’t really think I’ll eat anything,” he says, and his voice is back to what Arthur has already called _stressed Merlin mode_ ( _God, I’m giving names for his moods after knowing him for three full hours!_ ). “M-maybe I should go to the safe space right away.”

“Merlin, we have a whole hour,” says Freya. “Come with us for a chat, and then I’ll show you the space. You’ll be all right, I promise.”

Arthur looks at her wistfully. _How does she know what to say in such situations? I never do._

But there is no time to ponder on that, as Freya immediately turns his attention to him, and he yet again has to repeat the made-up story about being a newly graduated psychologist who just wants to get to know a different point of view. The second part of this statement, he realizes, really begins to get much closer to the truth than he imagined. 

“So, what is your special ability?” Arthur asks Freya as a way of an ice-breaker.

“What do you mean?” She sounds amused, looking at him knowingly, as if she knew exactly what he meant, but didn’t want to deprive herself of some fun from humiliating him. Arthur frowns.

“Well, they told me every magical person has a special ability. Like, Merlin here does this butterfly thing, don’t you, Merlin?”

Freya laughs. Merlin looks at him with a face so stupefied Arthur is really tempted to start doubting his intelligence.

“What?” Arthur asks angrily. “Another faux-pas? Oh sorry, forgot to tell you _I only repeat what they taught me._ ”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” says Freya, tapping him on the shoulder, which really, irks Arthur even more. “It’s not your fault. But you see, that’s like one of the biggest misconceptions about the magicals. It has some basis in reality, I guess… there are some people who really do specialize, or like doing just one or two things. Seers are mostly like that. I have the seeing ability, to some extent, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take up other things, or that I can’t switch and change my abilities throughout life. I am good at shapeshifting, you know.”

“Shape… oh, God,” Arthur says weekly. “You mean, like, you can change into a dog?”

Freya laughs.

“I prefer cats,” she says. “They’re more independent.”

“Wow,” says Arthur, truly impressed. “That must take a lot of… talent, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that. But also, a lot of training. I wasn’t born with a perfect control over my powers. Imagine how terrifying it was to change uncontrollably when I was a child. That’s why it’s so important what professor Alice said. A therapy for magicals by magicals. To teach healthy control.”

Arthur looks at Merlin, as he’s nodding in agreement. 

“Who taught you in the end?” Merlin asks. 

“Nobody, really. I figured it out by myself. With a great deal of trial and error, meditation for stress and relaxation techniques.”

“That’s cool,” Merlin says, and Arthur hears a jealous note in his voice.

They are now entering the dining room. There is a line-up to the buffet, and as they take their trays and wait, Arthur turns to Merlin and says:

“So, if you’re not just the butterfly guy, what else can you do?”

Merlin smiles, looking grateful.

“Well, I move objects with my mind. I can talk with my mind, too, if the other party can listen. I sometimes have visions, but they’re pretty random. I stop the time when I see something fall. It’s just for seconds, though. Also, I once turned a dog-statue into a real dog, and it almost ate me.”

Merlin grins at that, and Arthur can’t help but laugh.

“What happened to the dog?” he asks.

“It chased me through the park, and I had to jump into the fountain to get away from it. Then, I managed to turn it back into stone.”

“How old were you?” asks Freya.

“Seven,” says Merlin, timidly. “It was before… the therapy. You know.”

Arthur can barely restrain himself from squeezing Merlin’s hand. He finds himself unable to look at this miserable, kicked-puppy face. Part of Arthur’s brain reports dully that Merlin somehow managed to omit the part about the lightning colt from his record of abilities, but the other part of him responds that it’s really no wonder. In fact, Arthur really can’t restrain himself from reassuring Merlin in some way, but squeezing a hand would do no good, and the punching was already a bad idea once, so he pats Merlin on the shoulder, bro style, saying:

“I’m sorry.”

Merlin doesn’t react instantly. When he asks another question, Arthur’s shoulders go tense.

“Did you study psychology here? Did you have classes… with professor Gaius Higgins by any chance?”

Now, Arthur has to be on guard. Merlin didn’t mention Gaius’ name in the interview and it’s better he doesn’t realize Arthur knows about his therapist. But, on the other hand, all of Arthur’s psychology bluff comes from his short-term exposure which happened at the same university Morgana went to. Morgana, who was Gaius’ protegee for a good couple of years. In fact, they both knew Gaius. He was probably the only real friend of Uther’s.

“Yeah, I did,” Arthur says then. “I know he’s… disliked among you. I guess. I’m not surprised, really.”

“Oh, guys, by the way, did you know,” Freya interrupts, for which Arthur is rather grateful, “that Gaius Higgins and Alice Pots used to be married one day?”

“No way,” Arthur says. He almost wants to add: I would have known that, but he bites his tongue.

“For real! It was a very long time ago though, more than twenty years for sure. They had a falling out. Over magic, I tell you.”

“Professor Alice is magical herself, isn’t she?” asks Merlin. Arthur is surprised how much his voice has changed. It’s even lower now, verging on bass. 

“Yes. I guess she didn’t want to be called _defected_ by her own husband,” says Freya thoughtfully, helping herself to a Greek salad. Their turn at the buffet has come. “And good for her!”

“Uhm,” says Merlin. Arthur notices that his hands are shaking slightly, his plate wobbly in his hands. He tries to catch a veggie sausage, but the tongs are slippery and it takes him three futile attempts to finally win the prize. He makes a frustrated scowl. Arthur feels unbelievably sorry for him, but he’s not stupid enough to show it.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Arthur proposes as the three of them find a spare table. “What are you two doing in life, apart from being magical and all? I told you about my degree, now it’s your turn.”

 _You smug lying bastard,_ says something in Arthur’s head, and oddly, the _something_ has Morgana’s voice.

“I work at an animal shelter,” says Freya proudly. 

“Shapeshifting put to use, eh?” asks Merlin and they all laugh.

“What about you, Merlin?” Arthur presses. Merlin’s smile fades a bit.

“I graduated last year.”

“What subject?”

“Celtic Languages and Literature.”

“Wow, that’s something,” says Arthur. “Tracing the roots of magic?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, what are you doing now?”

“A gap year,” Merlin mumbles. “Then, we’ll see.”

A sudden buzz in Arthur’s jacket pocket prevents him from responding. He takes out his phone, praying it’s not Uther (Morgana, at least, knows better than to call him right now). 

His relief is short-lived. It’s Sophia. For a very inexplicable reason, Arthur feels rather uncomfortable.

“Sorry for a moment,” he says, shooting Merlin an apologizing glance. “I have to take this. My… girlfriend wanted me to call her earlier.”

Arthur will never forget the face Merlin makes upon hearing the world _girlfriend._

***

 _Sophia is a sweet girl._ Thus said Uther, thus said even Morgana, though Morgana was always more elusive, and Arthur sensed some degree of uneasiness about her voice. She wanted to be polite, Arthur had no doubt about it, but he wished she was more honest. _All right,_ said Morgana at last, pressed, _I guess she’s sometimes TOO sweet for my liking._

Well, but Arthur could live with that, could he? It was just a matter of taste.

Sophia likes what Arthur likes. She listens to what Arthur has to say. For him, these two things are enough. Have to be enough. After all, he always wanted to be listened to.

The only problem is, Sophia is rather keen on things such as engagement and marriage, and Arthur is more on a “just dating” side of things.

But that could surely be worked out, couldn’t it?

“Hi, honey,” he says uncertainly. “How’s the weekend with your dad?”

“It’s good,” her voice is gentle and Arthur’s heart melts. “But, darling, why didn’t you call me before? I asked you to.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. It’s this work thing that suddenly came up. I’ve got a break now, but I have to be heading back soon, you know? Terribly sorry about that. We can talk in the evening, if you like.”

“I’d like that very much,” Sophia purrs. “My dad has a surprise for you, you know.”

_Why do I feel queasy about it? I should be excited._

“Oh? What is it?” Arthur asks cautiously.

“I won’t tell you now, silly! Let’s talk in the evening. You’ll have something to look forward to. To finish your work earlier, my busy bee.”

For some reason, instead of being endeared, Arthur has a sickly feeling in his stomach. It all sounds so… fake, he suddenly realizes. As if we were both just pretending.

But maybe that’s how it always is in the beginning? Maybe it just takes some getting used to each other?

_Only, in our case, the beginning has lasted for a year._

Still, Arthur plays along.

“Till the evening then, darling,” he says, his voice honeyed. “I’ve got to go. Bye.”

“Bye. Love you.”

Arthur hangs up. When he comes back to his table and to his now surely half-cold sausages, he exhales slowly, as if he just ran a marathon.

And then he sees it. A pang of feeling, a very real, non-fake feeling, pierces him through right away and almost knocks him over.

“Merlin!” he shouts.

***

It all happened very quickly.

The stress has been accumulating in Merlin’s body over the hours, even when he didn’t want to remember about it, even when he was distracted from it. The result was, when he sat down with Freya and Arthur, and looked at his plate (he only managed to help himself to a meager Greek salad with a total amount of two black olives, and one dearly hunted veggie sausage), he was a big bubble of tension, and his magic only waited for a spark that would trigger the explosion.

He didn’t have to wait for long.

Merlin didn’t expect to be so disappointed when Arthur’s phone buzzed, and it turned out that he had a girlfriend. Merlin wasn’t a little baby, and he wouldn’t allow for his heart to be broken by a guy he barely met. Still, he couldn’t deny it was a bit disconcerting to hear Arthur take the call and sip honey-sweet words to the phone as he slowly walked away from the table. Because that meant Arthur’s conversation from before, a conversation that, to Merlin, really did resemble flirting, was no flirting at all, instead being a sign of something different. Arthur’s interest in him begun to look a bit creepy.

“I’m gonna go now,” says Merlin to Freya. “I need the safe space. Don’t interrupt your lunch for me.”

“Oh, come on, Merlin, eat your sausage at least! It’s going to be okay.”

“Really. Please.”

Freya sighs.

“There is no persuading you, is there?” she says. “All right. Do you know the way? Go straight down the corridor, as if you wanted to return to the auditorium, but turn left instead of right. I’ll make your excuses to Arthur.”

Upon hearing Arthur’s name, Merlin winces, but he forces himself to be unmoved. This takes up what was probably the last resource of his strength, and it’s no wonder that when he stands up a bit too abruptly, he knocks out the chair from behind him. It makes a thud, and several people turn their heads. Merlin is painfully aware of the attention. He feels his cheeks going hot.

“Oh, it’s okay, nothing happened,” Freya says, shooting him a worried glance and getting up to lift the chair from the floor. “It’s all right, just… oh.”

She has a good reason for letting out a startled sound. When Merlin tries to disentangle himself from the chair and to grab his bag, he trips over and lands on the floor. And that is exactly when, amidst his utter embarrassment, his magic decides to make a big reveal.

There is a groan of thunder booming in the lunch room, and this time, everyone turns to Merlin.

_Oh god, please, no, not the lightning again._

He stumbles to his feet, determined to run away from everyone and everything, but just as he makes the first step, he notices Arthur blocking his way. He’s back, standing before him, frozen, clutching the phone in his right hand as if he wanted to smash it. Arthur’s blue eyes are widened. Merlin can’t say if it’s the surprise or the fear that he sees there.

“Merlin!” Arthur cries out. No, this is definitely fear.

Because Merlin’s eyes must really glow now, not with gold, but with silver lightning.

Another groan of thunder. Merlin notices the room darken visibly. The lights flicker.

There is no more room for thinking. Merlin shoves past Arthur brusquely and runs out of the room. He doesn’t even try to make it to the safe space. A bathroom is the first place he notices when he’s out on the corridor.

As he shuts the bathroom door behind him, there are two things he registers: first, that Arthur and Freya have followed him and are now outside, banging at the door; second, that he feels a flash of lightning go through his body.

He screams and sends the blaze into the ceiling, leaving a huge black spot.


	4. Chapter 4

“Let me come in,” says Arthur, surprising even himself.

They have been standing outside the bathroom for good fifteen minutes, spending half of this time trying to persuade the general public to stop crowding on the corridor and come back to the lunch room, while Freya explained the situation to Arthur and called someone who, as she told him, was bound to help. And that was what Arthur was supposed to do: wait for someone who was experienced, who’d surely help Merlin instead of making the situation worse, who’d get everything under control. Instead, Arthur asks Merlin to let him in, straight into the middle of the storm, and Freya shoots him a worried glance.

“Arthur, better wait,” she says. He ignores her.

“Merlin, please.”

“No!” Merlin’s voice comes out muffled, and another thunder growls from behind the bathroom door. “You know nothing about me!”

_Oh, I do,_ thinks Arthur, but of course he’s not going to say it.

“Maybe it’s better that I don’t?” he asks instead.

“No!” A rambling sound, like three or four thunders, one over another.

“Arthur, he’s going to destroy this room if you don’t stop irking him,” says Freya, her voice shaking. “I’ve never seen anyone with such amount of raw power. We have to wait it out.”

“Okay, spare me your lectures,” growls Arthur, raising his hand to bang on the door again, but stopping himself mid-movement. Instead, he says in a low voice: “Merlin, you’re embarrassed, aren’t you?”

“Arthur, he’s past embarrassment. He’s lost all control, and you’re not helping him,” Freya scowls. “Let me talk to him until help comes.”

Arthur really should comply. Freya is magical, she knows best. She must have experienced such situations before. And Arthur couldn’t even cheer Merlin up earlier without punching him awkwardly in the arm. He really should listen to Freya.

But then again, Merlin’s power seems to be too much even for her. And from what she told him, it all started over something utterly stupid and meaningless. But that’s the whole point. Merlin probably spent the most of the day worried that he’s going to embarrass himself during the speech, and in his mind, he did that even before the speech started. No wonder his magic tried to mask it with threatening growls.

Arthur remembered the last time when he felt like that, at the Magic Now Christmas party when Uther forced him to say a few words to their sponsors. Arthur had prepared a speech and, in his mind, it was perfect. But Father cut him short, shooting him a glance that said _finish this now, son, go away and don’t embarrass me any further,_ and Arthur’s cheeks went pink before Sophia, her father, all of the staff and the sponsors. His stomach still clenches when he thinks about it.

So in the end, Arthur ignores Freya again (though he swears to himself he’s going to apologize to her later) and continues talking to Merlin through the door.

“You know what I do when I’m angry, or stressed out, or sad?” he says. “I think about nice memories. About a time when I was completely happy, and there was nothing to disturb me. Can you think about such a moment in your life?”

There is a brief silence, and then, “mhm,” comes from behind the door, but this time, it’s not accompanied by a thunder. One step at a time, thinks Arthur.

(Inevitably, Arthur starts thinking about one memory which he used to replay in his mind over and over again: holidays at the beach, Arthur doesn’t even know where it was, all he remembers are endless dunes of sand and the roaring of the sea in the background. And heat. He must be wearing only his knickers, and he’s small, very small. On his left, a nine-year-old Morgana is building a sand castle, working laboriously with a green plastic spade. _I will call it Camelot,_ she announces proudly, and then, Arthur’s vision is blocked by a face. She has blue eyes, delicate features and a smile that means home. She’s his mum. She lifts him and the world spins. Arthur cracks up in laughter.

She probably died very soon after. _Magic took her,_ Uther said. He never elaborated on that. Arthur never had the guts to ask.)

Freya wakes him up from his daydreaming.

“It’s gone suspiciously quiet in there,” she says. “I like it less than the thunders. Merlin, are you okay?”

Arthur slowly pushes the door, only to discover that they aren’t locked anymore.

He steps in first. What he sees makes his jaw drop.

***

_They are going somewhere, Mum and him, in her old car which probably broke soon after. Merlin doesn’t remember the inside of the car. It was dark. The middle of the night, as far as a five-year-old boy was concerned, but it could have been just around 9 p.m., who knows._

_Merlin is sitting in the back and looking out of the window. He can’t see anything apart from the road lights. They are in the country, coming back from somewhere, but Merlin doesn’t remember where. The lights form a pattern of radiant dots, and suddenly, Merlin sees a line of another road in the distance, and cars driving there, their fronts lighting the road with angelic white, and their backs with devilish red. Merlin is mesmerized by the patterns, but the feeling that rises in his chest is more than that. The night seems full of possibilities. The night sky is mysterious and invites him to imagine himself flying over it, unseen by anyone, going on an adventure just on his own. Yes, this is the time when Merlin still remembers himself believing that the world is full of possibilities, ready for him to grab them. But he also believed he could be something else. Take a chance, become something powerful, encompass all the world. He wouldn’t have a body, or, if he would, it would be a very small part of what he’d truly be, the earth, the sea, the sky, the fabric of the world._

_The last thing Merlin remembers is the feeling of warmth, his magic nestled firmly in his chest, at the core of his soul, buzzing like a fire, ready to be stirred. Merlin doesn’t do anything with it, he just listens to the hum of pure potential._

A cry snaps him back to reality.

“Gods, you’re levitating!” A female voice which, for a moment, Merlin can’t recognize. He opens his eyes (when did he close them?) and sees the black-haired girl, Freya. Beside her stands the troublesome guy, the endearing guy… Arthur. His mouth is open and he looks rather unintelligent at the moment.

“Am I?” asks Merlin and his voice comes out like a murmur. His throat feels parched. 

He looks around him, only then realizing that he’s looking down at Arthur and Freya, that their heads are jerked up. Below him, he sees the bathroom sink and the toilet cubicles (fortunately all empty), and just above him, just above…

“Ow,” cries Merlin, surprised. He has hit the ceiling and is hanging there, touching it, like a balloon full of helium.

“Can you control it?” asks Freya, her voice a tad shaky.

“I don’t know,” answers Merlin, trying to focus. _Down,_ he thinks, _down_. He has no time for any spells he might or might not have learned on the internet. And anyway, nobody on the internet has experienced levitating without any special preparation for it. 

Fortunately, it seems to work, as the floor gets closer and closer, slightly at first, then – very quickly.

“Careful!” shouts Arthur, springing forth and catching him just before he hits the floor. Merlin feels his arms under him and flushes. These are very strong arms. And warm. Arthur’s whole body radiates with warmth. Merlin could clutch to it and stay there. Preferably for a long time.

“Um… thanks,” he says, trying to stand up. With some surprise, he notices that Arthur’s cheeks are rather pink. Then, he realizes his arms are clutching Arthur’s back, one of his hands nested comfortably on the nape of his neck. “Sorry,” he adds, reluctant to let go.

“No worries,” Arthur seems pretty reluctant, too. “Did it help, what I said?”

“Um… yes. Thank you.”

An opening door brings them both back to reality. A young man is standing there, his face a tad terrified, a tad unsure, his eyes darting around the bathroom to assess the situation.

“You called me,” he says to Freya. “Does anyone need help?”

Merlin’s cheeks flush. He finally disentangles himself from Arthur’s grasp and stands firm on the floor.

“Everything’s under control now,” he says. “Thank you. Um, and sorry. For the blast.” He points to the ceiling, where a black spot is still looking rather nasty.

The man smiles slightly. Merlin notices he has a ring on his finger, something bearing a magical inscription. The man touches it slightly and it glows. The black spot disappears from the ceiling. On his left, Arthur lets out an impressed gasp, and Merlin can’t help but smile.

“It’s all right, I’m glad you’re fine,” says the man with the ring. “I’m Gilli, by the way.”

“Merlin.”

They shake hands. But there is no more time for pleasantries.

“Merlin, your speech is in fifteen,” says Freya. “Are you fit to give it? Gilli and I can tell the organizers you’re not feeling well.”

Merlin feels a surge of anxiety rise up in his chest. He shoots a glance at Arthur, who’s standing beside him, anticipation written on his face. _Lights,_ thinks Merlin. _Think about the lights and the night sky, and the flying. You are the earth, the sea, the sky._

“I will give it,” he says. “That’s what I’m here for.”

***

“When you meet a magical person,” Merlin starts his speech, “Don’t tell them: _we’ll combat it together._ They don’t want you to fight with what builds the core of their personhood. They want you to understand.”

Merlin’s voice is a little bit shaky, at least, Arthur hears it, but it may not be perceptible to the rest of the auditorium. From where he’s sitting, Merlin’s face is as small as Arthur’s palm, but he still sees his cheeks are red, as are his ears. He’s clutching the lectern, his eyes focused on reading the speech. The first sentence comes out a bit too quiet, but then Merlin gets the feel of the microphone and his voice becomes clearer, more emotional, inspiring even.

Arthur doesn’t even try to convince himself that he’s not rooting for Merlin anymore.

“Many lectures were given today,” continues Merlin, and Arthur realizes that, though the man is still looking at his speech, what he’s saying right now must be an improvisation, “most of them about the nature of magic, or how it manifests in people, or how it should be trained rather than concealed. But I want to talk about the relationships.” He clears his throat and Arthur swallows in accordance. Merlin narrows his eyes and it’s now clear that he’s going to start reading the proper speech.

“ _Managing The Magical Powers Without Breaking the Person,_ or, _The relationships between the magical and non-magical people_ , by Merlin Emrys. Uhm. That’s me,” he says, looking up briefly, trying out a smile. It comes out shy and adorable. There is a small, muffled laugh from the right side of the auditorium. Arthur turns his head there and spots Gilli.

“We speak a lot about the persecution that the magical people are exposed to. But sometimes, what is even more painful, is the lack of understanding. There are people in our lives who love us and who want the best for us, but who don’t know how to make our lives better. Sometimes their love and intuition guide them, and, with a bit of luck, we are able to acquaint them with our magic while they help us figure ourselves out. But sometimes they get scared by things they’re not used to, or have never seen. We cannot blame them for that, but we wish there was some source of information available to them, as we can’t always provide it ourselves. There are… situations of crisis when we can’t cope with the pressure, when we can’t even communicate what we need. I believe those are the situations well-known to non-magical people as well, only, they cope with them in a different way than we do.”

Arthur is recording the speech. He promised Morgana, but now, he’s also doing it for himself. And he wonders about what happened before, in the bathroom. _Was I guided by love?_ he thinks. _I had no idea what to do. I tried to think what would work for me, and I used it._

Meanwhile, Merlin continues speaking.

“There have been mentions of a magical burnout today: a situation that usually happens to those who cannot yet fully control their powers, or who had been taught to suppress them. The powers are still there, like a storm closed in a box, buzzing and yearning to escape. It’s only a matter of time before we experience anxiety or prolonged stress, and the powers explode. That is when we can, indeed, unwillingly, be dangerous to ourselves and to others. That’s when we, sort of, become the _stereotypical magical_ that Magic Now is always telling us about. The problem is, we never start out that way. It’s them who create the self-fulfilling prophecy. Before I go on to say what might have helped me once – what can still help me – let me reiterate my short magical history for those who haven’t read my interview…”

Arthur listens to Merlin’s story impatiently, eager to know what suggestions the man will give. Merlin’s voice is steady now, as he relates the subsequent stages of abuse he went through – almost as if it were someone else’s experiences, not his. When he finishes with the last act – how his mum pulled him from the therapy – he suddenly looks up from his speech, and Arthur can’t help but think that he’s looking at him.

_Don’t be ridiculous,_ he tells himself. _You’re sitting in the middle of the room, of course it seems like he’s looking at you._

“Today, I had a minor crisis,” Merlin says and Arthur almost jumps in his seat. “Some of you might have seen it.” A nervous, short laugh, rattling in the microphone. “But thanks to a… friend, a non-magical friend, it passed. Let me tell you what he did.”

Arthur can’t believe his own ears. Merlin is still glancing at his speech, and it’s easy to assume that from time to time, he still reads the bullet points he has prepared there – but he supplements it with a detailed description of what Arthur said to him.

“Sometimes it’s better to just leave us alone, to let our magic explode and then slowly calm down,” Merlin says, “though it’s necessary to provide a safe environment for us, a place where we’d rather levitate pillows than punch the walls. Sometimes though, it doesn’t work. My friend must have been considering just leaving me there, in the bathroom, but all the signs told him I could create lightning bolts if it came to it. So he did a very clever thing. He talked to me calmly through the door, avoiding danger, but letting me calm down in my own time. He brought me to a safe, happy memory, and my magic, which had been just waiting to fulfill its potential, actually started doing something peaceful. It didn’t create a storm. It got me levitating.”

Artur unmistakeably hears a gasp at this point. It comes from his left, from somewhere in the room. Arthur can’t identify the source, but turning, he sees Freya instead. She’s sitting next to him, transfixed in Merlin’s lecture. She turns to him, whispering:

“Jeez, man, you’re his hero. How long have you two known each other, anyway?”

“Haven’t you noticed? We met only today.”

“No way! Just before, back there… you two seemed… well, I don’t know… like long-time friends, anyway.” Freya chuckles.

“Shh. I want to listen to him.”

“I guess the most important takeaway from my lecture would be to treat magical people… like people,” says Merlin, grinning. His eyes almost disappear in his face. “Validate our feelings. Give us space. Let us practice our magic freely, and this will avoid burnouts. But if the burnout happens – don’t play the blame game, don’t shout, try to react calmly, as hard as it is; tell us you feel for us; say something funny, something calming. Draw our attention to our surroundings or engage our imagination. We really have it in abundance. Thank you.”

The round of applause makes Merlin grin even more, while his ears go crimson-red. Arthur’s hands ache from clapping. But it’s not the end yet. There will be time for a few questions, and, as a blonde girl who’s the moderator of this panel passes the microphone to the crowd, Arthur saves his recording of Merlin’s speech and sends it to Morgana. He adds a text.

_I’m quitting Magic Now. We need to talk._


	5. Chapter 5

Morgana’s back from work exhausted, but also, for the first time in ages, really satisfied. She still remembers Mordred’s little rainfall and that gives her hope for the future. Also, courage. Today, she’ll do something she didn’t have the guts to do for a long time.

She notices a text from Arthur, but she doesn’t read it, not yet. She will soon, though, because she’s really interested in how he’s faring, and maybe a bit worried, too. _I hope he didn’t make a fool of himself or antagonize this Merlin,_ she thinks. _I wish I could talk to the guy. I’d tell him what I did with Mordred today. I’d show him that the therapy can also do some good._

But deep down, Morgana knows what someone like Merlin would say. That it wasn’t because of Magic Now that she succeeded today. It was _in spite of it._ It happened because she trusted her gut feeling, rejecting the procedure.

Yet again, an uncomfortable sensation creeps up her spine.

From there, she can only get more uncomfortable as she’s creating a fake account on Facebook and joining a Magical women (no Magic Now!) group.

She’s accepted within minutes.

And then, she finally does it. She writes a post about the shattered window in her high school, about the nightmares she’s been having since she was a teenager and how sometimes those nightmares seemed like visions of the future. About being scared of delusions and madness. About the theories she read online and how they seem to match her, but she’s still not sure.

With a lump in her throat, Morgana clicks enter and publishes the post.

For fifteen minutes, there is nothing, and she considers deleting the whole thing and checking out Arthur’s message – but then, a notification pops up on her laptop screen.

The response is brief, but there is also a video attached.

 **Morgause Gorlois writes:** _We are here for you! We all went through similar stuff. You’re not delusional. It definitely sounds like you’re magical to me. Remember, it’s not always so spectacular and obvious. Here’s a video from today’s MagicCon (a great thing, that!), from Freya Lake’s speech. She explains it so much better than I ever would!_

Morgana likes the comment and clicks play.

_“Why are women overlooked when it comes to magic?” a young, dark haired woman says, standing on a stage in what looks like a university auditorium. Her voice is steady and strong. “After all, there are so many witches in pop culture! One would assume there is much more awareness about magical women than there is about men. But when we look at the depictions, we’ll soon realize one crucial difference: while some magical men are viewed as good and wise, almost all women are evil, and, most importantly, unpredictable. Their magic is something horrible, something to be afraid of. I might have an explanation for that. It’s because, though we are born with magic too, we are better at concealing it, and when it finally manifests itself – usually at a far older age than with men – it’s an eruption that scares us and those around us. We become witches.”_

Morgana listens attentively, turning the volume on.

_“In fact, it would be fairly easy to spot magic in very young girls, but nobody is interested in that,” she says pressingly. “If a girl has nightmares, nobody would tell her she’s a seer – they’ll just dismiss her vivid imagination. If she starts talking about turning into an animal – well, that’s another sign of imagination, isn’t it? “She’s living in the world of her own, how adorable,” they’ll say. Until they’d see the said girl really transform into a cat. Then, they are frightened. Then, they call her a witch.”_

Morgana closes her eyes. It suddenly all makes sense. Why even her own father, the so-called expert in magic, never saw her as a magical person. Why nobody else ever did. Why they’d probably laugh if she told them. Why they’d dismiss her as delusional, or they’d say well, if nightmares are magic, then I’m magical too. 

In a way, maybe Morgana is fortunate? She didn’t have to endure what this Merlin did; she wasn’t terrorized into subduing her magic like Mordred was.

But she also had problems of her own.

And now, her problem is that she has to pause the video, because her phone buzzes like mad.

Arthur.

“I’m sorry! Sorry!” Morgana almost shouts to the phone right as she picks it up. “I didn’t even have the time to read your text. It was… a rather intense day at work.”

“You didn’t even read my text…?” Arthur sounds so vulnerable now, his voice raspy, that Morgana sucks her breath. “I sent it hours ago.”

“Sorry! I really am. Did something happen? Did you manage to persuade Merlin?”

“I… I just said goodbye to him.”

“And what happened? Will you tell me?”

“Morgana, I’m quitting. I can’t do it anymore. Father… I don’t know if he lied to us or not, maybe he really believes it all, but, sis, I can’t, I’m sorry. I listened to it all, and I’ve seen the people… It’s all so much different. So much. I’m not going to persuade Merlin to do anything. In fact, I’m gonna side with him.”

Can a person feel extremely happy and extremely scared at the same time? Because Morgana sure feels like that right now. Arthur is confirming her newly built resolve, and that’s wonderful. But on the other hand…

“Father will eat you alive,” she says, her voice hollow.

“I know. But I have no choice. I’m gonna find another job.”

“Knowing him, you’ll have to find another flat, too.”

“Will do.”

“Arthur, what did this con do to you? Or was it Merlin?”

“I don’t know,” unexpectedly, he laughs, and the laughter is far from nervous. In fact, Morgana hasn’t heard him so happy in years. “Maybe he enchanted me, the guy. Maybe he did.”

“So, what happened? Have you told him you’re gonna side with him?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Does he know who you really are?”

There is a short pause.

“No,” Arthur says at last, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m a bastard and a coward, and I didn’t tell him. I was scared he’d hate me.”

Morgana sighs.

“Oh, Arthur.” She wants to add something like better not to keep it from him, or, he’s going to hate you even more if he finds out from someone else, but she bites her lip.

“I ruined it, didn’t I?” asks Arthur in a low tone of voice. 

“No, Arthur, you didn’t. Well… I don’t know.”

“Shit. One would have thought the Dad ruining my life thing was over and done with.” He tries to sound ironic, but Morgana knows him too well.

“Try not to think about it,” she says. “Get some sleep.”

“Will do. And you listen to the audio I sent you. It’s good.”

“I will, Arthur. Good night.”

***

It’s only after Arthur hangs up that he realizes he forgot to call Sophia.

“Shit,” he mutters to the walls in his empty flat. He should be feeling lonely without her. Instead, he’s feeling lonely when he thinks of her.

There were lots of questions after Merlin’s speech, and not all of them got the chance to be answered. People were asking about the interview, about Magic Now and the boycott Merlin had been urging for; some thought it was too radical, others – that it was not radical enough. Merlin didn’t engage in lengthy discussions. He answered the questions politely, and when he run out of time, he said _I’m very sorry, I have to go now,_ bowed – yes, really bowed! – to the audience, and ran back to his seat beside Arthur, his chest deflating like a camping mattress. 

Arthur wanted to hug him, really. To congratulate him and to thank him for what he said. He still couldn’t believe that Merlin had the guts to say such personal things, only a few hours after they’d met. It did something to Arthur, and he wasn’t yet sure what it was. He felt… proud. Proud of Merlin and proud of himself. What an odd, rare feeling.

But Arthur was a one fat liar, wasn’t he? Merlin wouldn’t be saying such things if he knew who Arthur really was. 

There was no need to act ridiculous. Arthur didn’t want to break down in the middle of an auditorium, among practical strangers.

So he just grinned towards Merlin and, keeping his hands in tight fists and putting them in his pockets, he said:

“Well done, mate. That was… great. And thanks… for the compliment, I guess.”

Merlin grinned right back at him, flustered. Only now, when he was standing close to Arthur, it was obvious how tired he was, his brow a bit sweaty and his lips parched. Inexplicably, that made Arthur’s stomach twist, a creepy turn-on if ever there was one.

“Thanks… mate,” said Merlin, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “I meant what I said. You’ll make a great psychologist. You have a talent for helping people out.”

 _Oh my fucking God._ Arthur felt his cheeks redden.

“That was… luck, I suppose,” he muttered. “I got lucky. I had no idea what to do, really. I just went with my gut there.”

“Yeah, and that means I have to take back my own words. You are good with people, after all,” said Merlin good-heartedly and that was it for Arthur. That was absolutely it. One more second of this… gleeful complimenting, and he’d burst.

“Right. I guess we need to shut up now. Freya’s speech,” he said, sitting down, rather brusquely. 

He didn’t catch much of what Freya said. He was too occupied with trying to fight his guilt and come up with a good excuse to take Merlin’s number without sounding lovestruck or creepy. He guessed it won’t be creepy anymore, not after what happened before Merlin’s speech, but he still didn’t want to sound… smitten. Merlin already knew he had a girlfriend, for God’s sake. And it would be terribly unfair to Sophia.

Which reminded him that he had to call her in the evening, and that she had a surprise, and one from her father at that. A queasy feeling in his stomach strengthened.

Because not only was he unfair to Sophia, he actually was a creep. He gave Merlin a false name, for God’s sake. He started the day spying on him.

He tried to put off saying goodbye. When the con ended, Freya proposed going out for a beer. Just one, mind you, we’re all exhausted, she said, and Arthur kind of agreed with her, though he wasn’t the one who’d given a speech that day. When they were going out, a tall bloke said hi to Freya, talked to her for a few good minutes, and then introduced himself as Edwin the Healer, which would sound ridiculous if not for the fact that it was the MagicCon, after all. He was handsome in an interesting sort of way, Arthur noticed, with a lopsided smile and ginger-blond hair, and a rather big scar on his right cheek – and pretty persuasive, because he invited himself for a beer with them right away. Gilli couldn’t come, though, but as they were leaving the auditorium, he practically run in Merlin’s direction to shake his hand again and congratulate him. Merlin looked as if he wanted to hide his head between his shoulders. But he was booming happiness at the same time. Arthur could already recognize the signs: the dimples in his cheeks, the playfulness in his voice, the narrowed eyes. He forced himself not to stare.

When they went out, it was 6 p.m.; when Arthur came back to his flat, it was 9 p.m. – still not that bad – but he reminded himself to call Morgana, and when he did, dropping the ball about quitting Dad’s job, he felt positively invincible (well, he might have had two or three beers, after all), only, Morgana sounded a bit less enthusiastic. And then, Arthur hang up and remembered Sophia again.

“Shit,” he repeats now. “Fuck. A bloody surprise.”

He wants to remember the evening. The conversations about various magical talents Arthur had no idea existed; Edwin’s suspiciousness of him as the only outsider, and a rather sudden way Merlin jumped to Arthur’s defense, saying _he was this guy who helped me today, the one I was talking about,_ and how that shut Edwin up rather spectacularly; their talks about Magic Now and how long will it take to make what they are doing illegal ( _years, probably,_ said Merlin sullenly, to which Arthur had no good answer); finally, the moment Arthur shyly asked _well, mate, so what about we… keep in touch, somehow,_ and how Merlin’s cheeks reddened (probably the beer), and he answered: _you want my number, right?_ and, odd and old-fashioned, wrote it on a napkin like a real boss.

A napkin which Arthur now fiddles in his right hand, only barely managing not to sniff at it.

But he has to call Sophia.

“Hey, sweetie,” he says, scowling at his own words. “Sorry I’m calling so late. Friends… from work. They made me go out with them. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be,” she says, coldly. Arthur swallows. “They made you, you say?”

“Well… I agreed. So I guess they didn’t make me, exactly.”

There is a sigh on the other end.

“Never mind.” Sophia’s voice suddenly changes from distant to honey-sweet. “I told you I had a surprise for you.”

“Yes, you did. I’m dying for you to tell me.”

“Well, guess what: my dad is going away next weekend. We’ll have the whole house to ourselves! With the lake, and all that! We can spend a lovely weekend together!”

“We can spend a lovely weekend at my flat too, you know. I live alone.” _As you well know and were always so happy about,_ he wants to add, but stops himself. Sophia was enthusiastic when she first heard nobody would disturb them in Arthur’s flat. She shared a room with a rather nosy flatmate, and back home, a house with her rather nosy dad.

“Does your flat have a lake?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Is there a forest nearby?”

“No, there isn’t.”

“There you go, then. And please, don’t tell me you can’t live without the city and your work for one bloody weekend! You’re a workaholic.”

“Yeah, about that…” Arthur realizes what decision he made just a few hours ago. “…maybe you’re right. A weekend off will do me good.”

Maybe that’s exactly what he needs, actually. Few days away from it all – Father, the company, memories of Merlin – to rest and really think things through. Before he decides to drop the ball to Uther like an absolute madman.

Because, God, it’s all a total madness, really.

***

Arthur leaves them a bit earlier and Merlin ends up drinking yet another beer and discussing magical activism with Edwin and Freya.

He was supposed to be resting, tucked away safely in bed. He has much to be exhausted by, starting with the bloody embarrassing breakdown and ending with his surprisingly well received speech – but instead, he’s made to defend peaceful means of protest from Edwin, of all people.

Edwin is passionate and nice. He knows about magic, and he seems to be having things under control. Maybe it’s also a matter of age; he’s older than Merlin, maybe even ten years older. Still, his presence is welcoming, and when Merlin talks to him, he doesn’t feel like a freaky outsider anymore. Even when they’re disagreeing. And Edwin is really interested in Merlin’s levitation, and seems to be implying that it’s something special even among the magicals. It makes Merlin feel good about himself, for once. 

But still, Merlin would rather think about Arthur. Though he feels embarrassed when he recalls his grin at the end of his speech. _I freaked him out, didn’t I?_ Merlin asks himself. _I wore my heart on my sleeve, as usual. To talk publicly about a guy who I just met! God, I’m a loser._

But then again, Arthur didn’t run away from him. He even asked for his number. And he looked so beamingly proud when Merlin complimented him. It was gut-wrenching, really.

“I really think we should use the bugs,” Edwin says suddenly, ordering another beer, and Merlin is forced to focus. “All we need is to find someone from the inside to plant them.”

“Bugs?” asks Freya, incredulously. “Like, real ones?”

“No, you crazy shapeshifter,” Edwin cheers her and she giggles. “I mean the ones that would secretly record the therapy sessions. It’s all well and good when Emrys here is chatting with journalists about his traumas, but it’s quite another story when the abuse is brought to light, plain and simple, caught in the act.”

“But Edwin, these… stupid therapy methods aren’t exactly illegal,” Freya protests. “What would a recording change?”

Merlin decides to join in.

“I can’t imagine listening on some poor kid’s therapy session,” he shivers and gulps down his beer. “It’s an enormous breech of trust. I thought we were supposed to help the magicals!”

“God, Merlin, you have no idea how activism works.” Edwin sounds smug and experienced. Merlin snorts.

“Enlighten me, then. Sorry I didn’t know it involves eavesdropping on someone else’s abuse. I thought we were supposed to prevent it.”

“We have no means of preventing it, silly, unless we prove to the public how inhumane the practices are,” says Edwin. “I know you feel for everything and everyone. But there is no other choice. And anyway, I already had some parents of magical kids contact me and tell me they would be glad to obtain the recordings of their children’s sessions. I assure you Magic Now makes them anyway. You won’t tell me giving them to the concerned parents is bad, will you? The only difference is, they will be uploaded online as well. To raise awareness.”

“I don’t know… Can’t we just organize a decent protest or something? Occupy the street in front of Magic Now HQ? Something like that?”

“Yeah, go on, if you want the law to change in thirty years, maybe you’ll manage that.”

“Look at the suffragettes. Look at the LGBT movement.” Merlin doesn’t give up.

“Exactly, my sweet summer child. They weren’t necessarily peaceful all the time. They committed minor acts of vandalism, or violence. All in good cause. God, Merlin, I don’t want to murder people! We just need to shock them. People are stupid. Until they don’t see a shocking video, or hear screams, they don’t care. They pretend the abuse isn’t there when they can look the other way. I want to make them look at it.”

Edwin sounds pretty adamant. And passionate. Well, Merlin can’t help but agree with him, at least partially. There is no denying that he wants what’s best. But still…

“I’m not surprised now that you waited with this till Arthur’s gone,” he says, glumly.

“Well, duh. He’s a psychologist. If he wants it or not, he’s a part of the system.”

“He might change the system. From the inside. He helped me today.”

“I know, kid. But he’s just one guy. They’ll eat him alive. We have to make them see first. We have to shame them. Hope there is some humanity left in people to see the inhumanity. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Merlin nods slowly. “’m afraid I do. Still, I want Arthur to be our ally.”

“Then get to know him and make him one. Don’t tell him everything at once, though. Don’t tell him until we have a clear plan. We don’t need unnecessary risk.”

“Okay, lads, all’s great,” Freya cuts in, “but how do you want to do it, anyway? Even if we do it magically, we’d still need to find someone on the inside. Either to plant the bugs, or to obtain the existing recordings.”

“I might have someone like that,” Edwin smiles smugly. Merlin looks at him, incredulous.

“Really? You have a rat in Magic Now? Who are you, a mafia boss?” he asks.

“Not quite,” Edwin looks awfully pleased with himself. “My contact says they can do something big for us. I have to check if that’s true.”

“Well, look after yourself, then,” says Freya. “We wouldn’t want some weirdo to murder you in a shady alley, would we?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I went through my own share of trouble back in the day,” Edwin points to the scar that covers his right cheek. Merlin didn’t want to ask about it before, but now that he brought it up…

“What happened?”

“An accident with my magic,” Edwin says curtly. “You know, you’re not the only one that’s suffered Magic Now’s therapy. Not the only one whose magic erupted. I created a fire. Before they put it out, it was too late. And of course, Gaius said it was my fault afterwards. I was ten, and it was my fault, you know?”

“Gaius??” Merlin can’t help but cry out. Some people from the next table turn to them with disapproving glances.

“Shh,” Edwin says. “So, you know him, do you? I noticed you never mentioned who was your therapist in the interview.”

“Didn’t want him to press any charges,” mutters Merlin.

“I see.”

“How did he treat you, anyway? I thought the whole therapy program only started properly when I was a kid, and you’re older than me.”

“Oh yes, but Gaius’s ancient, isn’t he?” Edwin giggles. “He worked with Uther before they founded the company. Uther, Gaius, and Alice. All three of them. Until Alice… dropped out.”

“Were they really married?” asks Freya, leaning over the table, her eyes shining.

“Yeah.” Edwin sips his beer. “Not that I cared back then. I was a kid.”

After a pause, Edwin adds, turning to Merlin: “What about I take you home? You live far away from here?”

“Four subway stops,” Merlin says, and his heart flutters with anticipation. Edwin isn’t exactly his cup of tea, but he can’t help but feel flattered.

It only ends up with a kiss. Merlin says he’s exhausted and inexperienced, and he’s scared his magic will pour over Edwin in some spectacularly incontrollable way.

“Don’t want to scar you again,” he says, only later realizing, tipsily, that it probably wasn’t a very neat thing to say. But Edwin smiles anyway.

“I understand,” he says. “Believe me, I do. Next time, maybe.”

“Yeah,” mutters Merlin, licking his lips as he turns towards his block of flats. Edwin tasted of beer and something sweet, honey-like. “Goodnight. Take care, Edwin.”

“Night.” Edwin pecks him on the cheek and turns away. “Till the next time.”

When Merlin opens the door to his flat, he remembers Arthur’s beaming smile, his strawberry blonde hair, and his broad shoulders.

And the fact that he has a girlfriend.

Shit.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next week, Arthur is making plans.

He meets Morgana the next day, and they share their doubts. He tells her as much as he remembers from the con. He talks about Merlin and they listen to his speech again, Morgana – impressed, Arthur – rather embarrassed, though he has no reason to be. He doesn’t tell Morgana it was him Merlin was referring to as a “friend”. He’s ashamed to.

Morgana tells Arthur about her session with Mordred. He knows Morgana has been struggling with the kid – she never told him much about the details, of course – and now, apparently, there is a spark of hope.

“Well, it doesn’t change much though, does it?” Arthur says glumly. “You’re still working for Magic Now. Maybe you should quit as well.”

She shoots him a very uncomfortable glance. 

“Or, maybe I should continue my work, but make it better? I can’t imagine abandoning Mordred now!” she says. “It’s all good when you’re in finance, but I can actually _help_ people from where I sit.”

It suddenly hurts him, what she’s saying. There has been so much thinking and re-evaluation of his whole life going on in Arthur’s head over just two days, and the effect is, he recalls his daydreams from a few years ago, before it turned out he was rubbish at psychology, before his father looked at him in a way that made Arthur want to hide in a dark corner. _I always wanted to help people, too,_ he realizes. _Yes, I like maths, I like sports, it’s all fun, but I also want to help people, to be good to them._ Over the years, he told himself that he indeed did help them, so long as he was diligent and good at his job, and after all, he was working for such a charitable cause… now, that the faith in the cause is shattering, he doesn’t have much left. And he understands that he wants to do more than just assist people with their money.

He wants to make a difference. For people like Freya. Like Merlin.

Especially like Merlin.

“I’ll make arrangements,” says Arthur. “A new job. A new flat. I’ll tell Father only when it’s all done. When he can’t threaten me with his way or the highway anymore.”

Morgana flinches.

“Maybe Sophia’s dad would help me,” muses Arthur. “You know, I’m going to his place in the weekend. Though he won’t be there. Thank God. He’s rather nosy. But maybe…”

“I don’t like Sophia,” Morgana draws her brows together.

“I know, but I do.”

“You sure about that? The way you spoke about Merlin the other day, you sounded like you liked him far more, and he’s not your one-year relationship.”

He shoots her an unfriendly glance. His heart is pounding, he notices, and he hates that.

“What was that supposed to mean? Of course I’m sure about Sophia.”

“Only, it seems to me that you always act strange around her. Like… fake-besotted. I don’t know how to explain it. And it also seems to me that she may not like Uther cutting you off.”

“Are you trying to tell me she’s with me only for the money? Really, Morgana, I thought something like that was beneath you.”

“It’s just a feeling I get.”

“Is it about your nightmares again?”

“Well, I did have a dream…” Morgana eyes Arthur uncomfortably.

“Oh, great. And what did it say? Did Sophia come to you to tell you _give me the money_ , or what? Do your nightmares mean that you can read people’s minds now?”

Morgana draws her eyebrows together, her face going tense.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she snaps. “You think I’m faking it, or what? And why would I do that? Convenience? Because I don’t think it’s convenient. I think it’s bloody inconvenient, you know, to have weird dreams verging on magical, with me being Uther’s daughter and all that.”

As she speaks, her voice’s getting louder. Arthur flinches and puts his hands on her arms.

“I’m sorry, sis. I didn’t mean it like that. Just… don’t try to fix my life, okay? Just as I won’t try to fix yours.”

He feels her muscles relax a little.

“Okay,” she says. “Still, be careful. Don’t depend on Sophia’s dad. Find something for yourself.”

“Oh, I will.”

“We’re really rubbish at life, aren’t we?” asks Morgana suddenly, her voice breaking. “We were always taught to fix others. Never – to understand them. Accept them.”

“Oh, shush, enough of this nonsense,” Arthur says brusquely. He has to, because Morgana’s vulnerable voice – and she doesn’t use it often, not these days, at least – punches him right in the gut, and he doesn’t want to cry. _Another thing Uther taught us,_ he thinks bitterly.

“So, tell me more about this Mordred,” says Arthur after a pause. Morgana’s face lights up and she starts talking, and talking, and she doesn’t stop until way into the evening.

***

Merlin meets up with Edwin three days after the con. 

The text that came was curious. _Need to discuss the plan. Have to talk with u alone first._ Merlin didn’t really know how to interpret it. It was both professional and personal. Maybe the plan was just a pretext for a date? But then, again, Merlin didn’t want to make a fool of himself if it wasn’t. 

This definitely doesn’t help with choosing the clothes for the meeting. In the end, Merlin decides to be casual, putting on a t-shirt (but a very nice one, his favourite teal with a red stripe in the middle) and jeans, and just a tiny bit of product in his hair. _I look like a teenager,_ he thinks ruefully as he leaves his flat, _and Edwin is so grown-up. Dammit, he probably thinks I’m a kid, he even called me that._

But Merlin can’t deny that there was also something oddly arousing in being called a kid by Edwin.

They meet at a café called The Phoenix’s Eye which is just five streets away from Merlin’s place and which, according to Edwin, is magical-friendly. It probably means that magical tricks aren’t necessarily frowned upon there, so long as they are not too spectacular. Merlin sighs and leaves his flat.

Which actually looks quite nice. It’s all pretty… wooden, with wooden chairs, tables and even floor. It all gives the café an old-fashioned, almost medieval look. The coffee brews are magic-themed, with names such as The Witch’s Brew and The Dragon’s Breath. Merlin rolls his eyes at this. It’s sweet, if not a bit stereotypical.

Edwin’s wearing a black turtleneck which makes Merlin swallow, realizing just how lean and long his upper body really is. Black does wonders for his complexion. He pecks Merlin on a cheek as a way of saying hello, which is more than nice, really, and very much welcomed, as Merlin is still trying to forget Arthur’s face, repeating _girlfriend, girlfriend_ in his mind over and over again.

“So, what about this informant of yours?” asks Merlin when they sit down at their table, Merlin sniffing at his Poisoned Chalice which is a very stupid name for a latte, and Edwin sipping at his double black Holy Grail. “Are they any good?”

“Better than good,” smiles Edwin. “She’s not, in fact, and employee in Magic Now. She knows the Pendragons themselves.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “The Pendragons? You mean, Uther and his wife? Or their children? Do they have any?”

Edwin smiles sharply.

“Oh, Merlin, you didn’t do your homework,” he says. 

“I thought we were protesting against Magic Now, not against the Pendragons as such.”

“Eh, kid. With the Pendragons, there is no separating the company from the family. And I think you’ll see that soon enough.” Edwin’s voice is oddly sad. “Lucky for you, I did my homework, so I know that Uther Pendragon has no wife as of now, because his first wife has left him and the second one died. He has a daughter from the first marriage. She works in his clinic as a therapist and we don’t have any way of reaching her. Uther’s son, on the other hand… well, my informant claims she knows him. Intimately. She’s his girlfriend.”

“And how did she prove that?”

“She showed me photos. Those can be, of course, photoshopped. But I managed to get hold of a video from the company’s anniversary celebration, with both of them kissing. Quite charming, if you are into that sort of thing.” Edwin smiles again and taps something on his phone. As Merlin doesn’t interrupt this time, he continues.

“Uther’s son, in fact, works for the company as well. He’s not a psychologist, though. He works in finance. And once you know what to look for, you can find him easily enough in the company’s directory. Complete with an email and a photo. Here.” Edwin pushes his phone in Merlin’s direction. “Look.”

Merlin lowers his eyes and stares at the screen.

Arthur is smiling right back at him, professional-looking, a red tie around his neck and a note that clearly states that this is Arthur Pendragon, a finance manager at Magic Now, and one can contact him under a.pendragon@magicnow.com. Merlin stares and stares, opening his mouth without realizing, and stares some more.

“There is no private and public with the Pendragons, you see that now?” asks Edwin gently. “We have to strike at them. The guy was trying to spy on you already and it’s bloody good we didn’t mention any of our plans when he was with us.”

“But… no… but it’s… no!” Merlin stutters, a million thoughts spinning in his head. He can’t describe them, he can’t put them all together, it’s a jumble, and he’s afraid of feeling so much about this guy whom he met once, and he’s ashamed he practically thrust himself upon him, mentioning him in his speech even. He can’t believe that Arthur could have done this, and God, Merlin’s magic is like a storm within him, and he’s going to explode.

“I know it’s difficult, but this is life for you, I’m afraid. You can’t trust everyone, especially not when you’re magical.”

Merlin registers Edwin’s words, but they come to him like from behind a veil, curtained by the flow of Merlin’s magic, by his broken powers, twisted by the therapy, by the people he trusted, because they were supposed to help him, and they broke him instead, and now, it’s happening all over again, and it’s Magic Now’s work once more, this company must be some devil’s den, some malicious beast which wants to twist Merlin’s life and take all of his trust from him, and he’s never going to open up ever again, and…

“Merlin,” Edwin says, his voice thick with worry. “Merlin, the table’s shaking.”

“Out,” growls Merlin. That’s the only word he manages before he stands up abruptly, his and Edwin’s coffee dancing in the cups and spilling on the table – and runs out of the café, Edwin following him as he leaves charred footsteps on the floor, like a creature of fire.

The only thought in the back of his head – that he’s in a public space, he can’t be doing this, not here, not now, just wait a moment longer – explodes instantly as he remembers the last time he told himself that when he ran from the lunch room into the bathroom, and that reminds him of Arthur soothing him through the door, hitting him with betrayal all over again. He stumbles on the pavement, crouching on the ground, the passers-by walking around him, shooting him wary glances, and Merlin is a monster, an uncontrollable monster, that’s what Aredian said when he tied him up and took him to the silent room.

And as Merlin remembers that, his magic doesn’t lash outwards in a fit of fury; instead, it explodes inwardly, and Merlin’s arm is covered with cuts even before Edwin manages to crouch beside him and tell him to just breathe and to concentrate on that. 

Edwin sees the cuts, Merlin’s new battle wounds covering the old scars. And he does the only thing he can do for a magical, really: he calls a taxi and takes Merlin home, practically shoving him into his horrified mum’s arms. He must know very well that calling 911 might only lead to more disaster.

The rest of the day, Merlin spends on recovering, his wounds dressed by Hunith (the look on her face crushes Merlin all over again), and hating himself for being a victim in Edwin’s presence. It’s only in the evening he realizes Edwin didn’t manage to tell him about the plan after all.

He sends him a text. Edwin’s response comes quickly.

_Rest. We’ll manage. You don’t need to worry about it._

Merlin types a furious response. _I want to know._

 _Rest, kiddo,_ Edwin replies.

_Whatever u do, I’m in. I want to make A pay._

Edwin responds within seconds.

_We will, M, we will._

***

_“Who are you?” asks Merlin stubbornly. “I don’t know you.”_

_The desk is broad and black, stacked with papers, books and several cups. There is also a weird pendulum thing, one that Merlin saw at the GP’s office once, and which he associates with doctors forever since. From behind all that, an elderly gentleman is looking at him rather sternly, one of his eyebrows arched ridiculously high, as if it wanted to escape his face. Merlin would laugh at that if only he wasn’t so scared at the moment._

_“I am your therapist, Merlin,” says the man. “Your mother brought you here because… she told us you have magic.”_

_“Am I in trouble?” asks Merlin. He’s always in trouble because of magic. Sometimes it’s just cause the boys at school laugh at him, other times – when teachers say he’s cheating with it. He’s not. He’s just using it to access information, that’s all._

_The old man is toying with a dragon’s figurine. It’s Merlin’s dragon. He always preferred those to dinosaurs for some reason. And now, the strange man took it from him._

_“No, Merlin, you are not in trouble,” says the man rather kindly and Merlin relaxes a little. “I am here to help you. Your mother said you had some problems at school?”_

_“Well… yeah,” says Merlin. “Can I have my dragon back?”_

_“All in due time, Merlin. Tell me what happened first.”_

_“Well, Ben at school laughed at me with other boys when I was playing with the flowers in the yard. He called me a freak and a poof.” Merlin’s chin shakes a bit. “I don’t even know what it means.”  
“How exactly were you playing with flowers?”_

_“Magic,” blurts Merlin. “I was making patterns on the grass. Making them… change color. It was fun. Anyway, Ben told me he bets I can’t do anything really useful with magic. Like get the test grades and change them. So I did, to prove he’s wrong.”_

_“I see.” The therapist’s eyebrow goes up even higher, just as Merlin was thinking it’s not possible. “So, the teacher called your mother and told her you were cheating with magic, is that right?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Do you know why the teacher was upset, Merlin?”_

_Merlin twists his fingers. He wishes he had his dragon. He likes to hold it when he’s stressed, and then the dragon changes colors, just like the flowers did. Merlin found out that it usually doesn’t upset people as much as creating butterflies out of nowhere. They think it’s just a fancy gadget._

_But now, Merlin doesn’t have anything in his hands, so he just flicks his fingers. A tiny butterfly appears in his hand and flies above to the ceiling, sitting on a lamp. The therapist shakes his head and looks at Merlin disapprovingly._

_“Merlin, please, can you focus and answer my question?”_

_But he is focusing. He’s trying to. That’s why he created the butterfly in the fist place._

_“I know cheating’s bad,” says Merlin. “I’m sorry. I only ever did it to shut up Ben.”_

_“What do you think might happen if everyone wanted them to change their exam grades?”_

_“That’ll be bad, because people won’t study anymore.” Merlin repeats what Mum told him. And he agrees with her, really. Though he sometimes wishes he could change his own grades from time to time. Not that the teachers wouldn’t find out anyway. He could never change the answers – not when he didn’t know the right one. He always had to study just like everyone else did._

_“That’s correct. Can you see how people might think you have an unjust advantage over them?”_

_“I guess so. Though I can’t learn by magic. I have to read the textbooks, too.”_

_“But you can still cheat.”_

_“Yeah. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”_

_“Good.” The therapist smiles, but only for a very short while._

_“Can I get my dragon now?”_

_“Just a moment, Merlin. There is one more question. How do you think the boys were feeling when they saw you play with the flowers?”_

_That’s not something Merlin was expecting. He shrugs, a bit impatient. His magic flickers under his skin._

_“Angry, I guess?”_

_“Why do you think so?”_

_“Well, they were shouting and their faces were…” Merlin twists his face in demonstration._

_“Do you think they were jealous?”_

_“Of magic? I don’t know. I don’t think they wanted to play with flowers, too. They said it’s girly.”_

_“Maybe they were upset with you displaying your abilities? Abilities which they don’t have?”_

_Merlin’s eyes widen. Something’s not right, but he can’t put his finger on it. He always figured jealousy was bad, and now this man speaks as if it was Merlin’s fault the boys were jealous.  
“I don’t know. They’re good at sports and I’m not. So I should be upset, as well.”_

_“You see, Merlin,” the therapist still toys with his dragon, which makes Merlin more and more nervous, “natural abilities are a bit different than magical ones. People have talents, but they still require practice to flourish. That’s not the case with magic. The magical abilities are innate and don’t require much work, or, at least, much less than the natural ones. This is backed up by studies,” the therapist puts his pointing finger in the air, as if he was arguing with some imaginary colleague. “Some people find it upsetting that the magicals… have it easier in life.”_

_Merlin opens his mouth. He can’t argue with the therapist, not really. He’s only eight, after all. But he never felt he had it easier in life. Most times, his magic was just for fun, and more often than not, it only brought him trouble. Like right now._

_“I am going to teach you,” the therapist continues, “to re-learn your reflexes. We are going to create a system of responses that is socially acceptable and will cause less tension with your environment.”_

_Merlin doesn’t understand a word of this. But he soon learns it on an example._

_“Help yourself to some water, Merlin.”_

_Without much thinking, Merlin looks at one of the cups on the desk – the blue one, he always liked blue – and floats it through the air. The cup lands in his hand and Merlin is just about to float the bottle of water, too, when the therapist says:_

_“No, no, Merlin, stop! You see, that is not an acceptable response. That is a response which will get you in trouble. Now,” he takes the dragon into his hand again and puts it away into one of the drawers. “you will help yourself to some water, but you will use your hands instead. You won’t be given your dragon back if you don’t.”_

_Merlin feels tears accumulating in his eyes._

_“I want my dragon back!” he says firmly._

_“When you use your hands.”_

_Something rebellious rises in Merlin then, and he flashes his eyes gold, opening the drawer magically – fortunately, the therapist didn’t lock it, Merlin isn’t very good with locks just yet – and flying his dragon straight into his hand. Then, he bows his head, clutching his dragon and expecting some shouting._

_But the therapist’s voice is still rather calm._

_“I see,” he says, and for some reason, this is more terrifying than any prospective temper tantrum. “I was wondering if you would do that. That’s why I didn’t lock the drawer. I’m afraid I will have to be e bit more decisive from now on.”_

_He stands up and opens the other drawer in his desk. From there, he takes a wiry metal bracelet._

_“This is a magic restraint bracelet, Merlin,” he says sternly. “It doesn’t subdue your magic entirely, but… it calms it down a significant amount. I’m afraid we have to work with it until you learn proper responses. Mind you, this is a low-level tool. There are more powerful ones, as well.”_

_And that’s how it begins. Trust, followed by fear. A gruesome process of subduing, suppressing, of reward and punishment. Merlin’s first reward is to earn the taking off of the bracelet, only then of getting his dragon back. He starts believing his magic has to be quenched. He trusts the therapist. He’s a famous guy. He must be right._

_Only, when Merlin has seemingly learned his proper responses already, his magic lashes back at him without any warning._

_And the first cut appears on his wrist._

“I can’t”, Merlin says to himself, as he rummages his drawers, looking for an object. “I can’t, I don’t control it any longer, I can’t.”

There was a point in his life he vowed never to put it on again. He was supposed to be proud of his magic, not ashamed of it. There was a time he finally thought he had it all under control. That he had cheated Gaius.

Well, it’s good he forgot to get rid of the bracelet, then.

There it is, at the very bottom, hidden under a stack of old drawings and his embarrassing journal from secondary school.

The bracelet closes around Merlin’s wrist with a metallic click. It’s the adult version, which means he can take it off anytime. The first one he was given by Gaius didn’t have that option.  
A well-known feeling of numbness spreads in his body, encompassing his hands and legs, his loins and chest, and at last, his head. He feels sleepy. He can’t think straight. 

He’d better go to sleep. That’s the one thing he’s good for.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur has never been big on poetry, but Sophia’s country house truly deserves some poetic lines. It stands by the lake, in the middle of the forest, not visible from the road. As they drive together in Arthur’s car (a present from Uther for his 25th birthday), he slows down, looking for a tiny sign on the left side of the road, pointing to the right direction. Every time he’s been here, he missed it. And he almost would now, were it not for Sophia who cried _left, now, left!_ in the last moment.

They drive on for a few more minutes, the car bumping on an old decrepit road, but it’s worth it, because when they finally arrive at the destination, Arthur’s breath is, as usual, taken away by the sight.  
From the front, it just looks like a small, atmospheric, wooden house in the middle of the woods. It’s only from the back terrace that the view of the lake presents itself, the last sunrays resting on its surface. There is a tiny isle in the middle, too small to accommodate anything apart from a total number of four trees. A pure image of charm and serenity.

And the house, according to Sophia’s promise, is empty. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, it has WiFi, which is positively wonderful – and Arthur should be in the peak of happiness now, really, because what else could he want from life when he has this?

Only, he can’t stop thinking about the con, magic, quitting working for Father, and Merlin. Especially Merlin. On Thursday, he sent him a text. _How are you? Recovered after the con?_

But he didn’t get any response.

“Come on,” says Sophia, standing behind him and putting her arms around his waist. “Help me get our stuff from the car. It’ll be dark soon.”

Dark. Arthur rarely experiences true darkness. The light pollution in the city is too great, and one can hardly see a star or two on the night sky. But here, he knows that the only artificial source of light is one lamppost standing beside the house, not counting the lamps inside. On a cloudless night, from the terrace he could observe the smudge of the Milky Way stretched on the sky. He plans on doing precisely that tonight. September has already started, but it’s still warm. Maybe Sophia would agree to sleep with him on the porch.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks sweetly as he gets their bags from the car. “You are so absent-minded. Is it still work?”

He looks at her guiltily. Although they’ve spent an hour and a half in the car already, only now does Arthur realize Sophia’s hair looks different today: usually, she wears buns, but today her hair is loose, hanging in golden frizzy waves down to her waist. She’s also wearing a yellow blouse which Arthur hasn’t seen before, a low-cut gorgeousness. He swallows, more out of remorse than lust, really. He should be paying more attention to her. It’s not her fault that he met Merlin. That he liked him so much. It’s not her fault she likes the diminutives and the sweet language when he doesn’t. That’s how relationships work: through mutual compromise. He hasn’t been trying enough lately.

“I’m sorry,” he says, earnestly. “I had a rather crazy time. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, okay? Tonight, we’ll rest, and we’ll have a lovely evening.”

“What are you planning?” asks Sophia, a teasing note in her voice.

“Well, what about some star-gazing and porch cuddling? You sure your dad’s away?” Arthur smirks.

“Can you see his car?”

“Um, no.”

“Well then. I think I like your idea,” she says, scaling the porch stairs and fumbling with her key to open the door. “I asked Dad to leave some wine for us in the fridge.”

“Perfect,” Arthur says, walking in.

The house is dark and empty. In the middle of nowhere, it looks rather creepy, so Sophia turns on the light in the corridor. It hasn’t changed much since Arthur was here last (and when was that? Half a year ago? Probably), still cramped with numerous pairs of shoes (which Arthur always thought odd, as there was only one person who lived here on a daily basis these days), shelves full of dusty books and even a bike gaining rust in the corner. Arthur knows the way, so he carries the bags upstairs, to Sophia’s former bedroom. It’s still decorated in a way a typical – if not stereotypical – high school girl would have organized her space: the fresh covers on the bed (no doubt a parting present from Aulfric, Sophia’s dad) are dusty pink, there is a big dream catcher hanging from the wall, and even the Twilight poster is still stuck onto the door (Sophia always says she stopped being serious about it when she was fifteen, but kept the poster for fun anyway).

Arthur puts the bags on the floor. It’s covered by a pine green, flowery carpet, but he knows that there are wooden planks underneath. The house is old and atmospheric, and Arthur likes it – he grew up in sterile modern rooms of his family home and he always wished he was allowed to keep even a bit of a mess (he still remembers how his teddy bear was classified as a dirty abomination by his father, and promptly thrown away to Arthur’s dismay). In here, he feels cozy. Which is a sensation he isn’t that much accustomed to, he realizes.

And it’s precisely because of his expectations of Sophia’s house that he isn’t surprised when he hears the floor creaking behind him. He assumes Sophia’s joining him in the bedroom, and turns to the open door, wanting to face her and finally reward her with a decent kiss.

But there’s nobody there. For a moment, Arthur stares at the empty corridor without comprehending – then he decides he must have misheard the noise.

***

“Is this house haunted?” asks Arthur in a playful voice as they are sitting on the back porch, stretched on loungers, looking at the painfully beautiful lake lit by the starlight and a thin crescent of a moon. They had two glasses of red wine each already. The wine was bittersweet, with a hint of strawberry, and Arthur drank it fast, contentedly. He doesn’t remember having such good wine in his entire life. Sophia’s head is resting on Arthur’s lap, while her right hand mindlessly strikes his thigh. He feels distracted. “Oh shit, come here.”

He kisses her softly but thoroughly, trying to put down his glass and knocking it over in the process. Sophia fumbles with his zipper and Arthur’s cock goes hard. 

“Haunted?” she asks in between kisses. “Why would you say that?”

“Only…” starts Arthur, but finds himself unable to finish the sentence. The wine was strong. Very strong, in fact. It’s difficult to think. Very… difficult. “Nmph,” he adds, eloquently, trying to focus on the kissing and rolling his pants down at the same time. Which isn’t as easy as he thought it’d be.

“All the old houses are haunted,” says Sophia, biting his lower lip, and Arthur stirs briefly, still trying to roll down the pants. He feels her hand on top of his, guiding him. His head is drifting off – a flash of thought appears in his mind, an embarrassed thought: we were supposed to fuck, not sleep, and with a last effort, Arthur opens his eyes.

Only to discover Sophia gazing at him, her mouth twirled in a smile. But the smirk doesn’t reach her eyes. Those are perfectly cold, angry even. A faded feeling of surprise encompasses Arthur, but he doesn’t have time to think about it; his eyes are already half-shut again.

The last thing he sees before they shut entirely, are Sophia’s eyes flashing red.

The last thing he feels before he drifts off to sleep, is Sophia’s hand on his cock, squeezing.

***

When Arthur wakes up, he’s taped to a chair in Sophia’s bedroom.

He knows it’s her bedroom because the first thing he sees is this damned Twilight poster, with Edward looking all CGI-ed into predatory smugness, and Bella’s eyes staring mindlessly into the distance. Arthur contemplates it for a few minutes before he realizes two things.

First, that he needs to retch.

Second, that he can’t move.

His stomach takes the better of him and his body convulses, surging forward.

Someone puts a plastic bowl on his knees. Before he throws up, Arthur recognizes Sophia’s red nails.

“What… how…” he manages after he’s done. His throat is parched and his lips feel crackled. His voice comes out scratchy.

“Oh, darling, I’m afraid you have a massive hungover,” says Sophia from behind him, her voice dripping in mocking pity. “You know, this wine was really very strong.”

Her voice is the same tone as usual, honey-sweet, only this time, Arthur doesn’t feel mildly uncomfortable at its sound. He feels terrified. It’s weird, the way he never quite put his finger on what it was that was wrong with this voice before. Only now, it seems to match the surroundings and the circumstances perfectly.

“This wasn’t wine,” Arthur spits out. “I’ve never been in such a state after wine. You added something to it.”

Sophia giggles.

“Maybe,” she says simply. “You’re really funny when you go all limp. Sadly, you also get unfuckable. The one thing you’re actually good for. Pity.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Arthur manages before he sees Sophia stepping in front of him. She still wears the same lovely yellow blouse and tight jeans. Her eyes are still perfect green. Arthur vaguely remembers them being red at some point last night, but surely, he must have been delirious already?

Arthur tries to stand up, and yet again realizes he’s taped to the fucking chair.

“What do you think you’re doing? Is this some new kink? Because if you don’t know, they have to be consens-”

“Oh, spare me the lecture,” Sophia cuts him off. “I believe you’re parched. Here, have some water.”

She takes the disgusting bowl with Arthur’s vomit from his knees, putting a bottle of water to his lips and turning it upside down unceremoniously. Arthur would gladly refuse it now, but he is really, really thirsty, and anyway, she’d drown him before he’d be able to say no. He gulps on the water greedily.

“You’re such a nice boyfriend, Arthur,” says Sophia, putting the bottle down just as abruptly as she put it to his mouth. “Very… dutiful. Never misses a birthday, never shouts, never treats me badly. A bit too preoccupied with work, but that can be forgiven, I suppose. After all, what a responsible job you have.”

Arthur doesn’t get any of this. Sophia sounds mocking, but he always remembered her perfectly proud of the job Arthur was doing. So proud, in fact, that Morgana even suspected her of getting together with him only because of the prestige.

“Pity the company you work for has blood on its hands,” says Sophia suddenly, her face earnest for once, twisted in a grimace of anger.

“The lies your father spreads about the magicals,” Sophia continues, “do you have any idea how they affect real magical people? Nobody treats us seriously. We are afflicted, after all. Supposed to be pitied, but not understood. Not to be trusted with responsibilities. After all, any time magic can come for us and destroy those around us.”

“Us?” Arthur widens his eyes in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me you’re magical?”

“Me and my father both,” Sophia says, a hint of sadness on her face. Arthur realizes this might be the first time he really sees her display this emotion for real, which means all the other times were really well studied lies. 

“You… you never said… I never would have suspected…”

“Oh yes, that’s exactly the point. I’m pretty and eloquent, not an ugly witch with a pointy hat, so of course you never would have suspected. But I’m magical. And my father is a magical engineer. Only, he could have done many wonderful things by now, were it not for the prejudice.”

“My father didn’t create the prejudice, it was already there,” says Arthur. “And anyway, I’m not him.”

“But you work for him.”

“Not any more. I was to MagicCon last weekend, Sophia. I decided to quit. I got a different perspective.”

“Oh yes, very funny. And I’m supposed to believe you now, am I not?”

Arthur sets his lips in a thin line.

“I see why you wouldn’t. But I met some people there. Magicals like you. You can ask them, they’ll remember me.”

Sophia laughs for quite a while then, and for a moment Arthur really can’t see what’s so funny.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says finally. “I know you were at the MagicCon. Who are you taking me for, an idiot? You went spying after Merlin Emrys, my little birds told me. I must say, you were quite good at pretending you’re on his side.”

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Arthur doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. He thinks about Freya, and Edwin, and Gilli, and tries to establish which one of them was Sophia’s “little bird”. He doesn’t want to think it was Merlin himself. Because, really, if Merlin knew from the very beginning who Arthur was, then he was real crap at reading people. He couldn’t have known, could he?  
Does he know now?

“All right, enough of brooding,” Sophia says. “I didn’t bring you here to gloat over you, but to make use of you. We need your secure Magic Now password.”

“What do you want to do with it? I’m not an IT guy, you wouldn’t hack their system with my weak password.” _And is that what she was my girlfriend for? A year, only to get a fucking password?_

Arthur realizes he’s already thinking about Sophia in the past tense, which is no wonder, really. What is strange, though, is that he never considered if he’d be able to leave her house alive. If there would be any future after Sophia.

Surely, she wouldn’t kill him here and now? That would be just stupid. Morgana knows where he went. Even Uther knows.

“We don’t want to hack anything,” Sophia winces in disdain. “We just need access, and you’ll give it to us. I’m opening my laptop and I’m putting it on your lap. Try not to retch on it.”

“I’m not giving you my fucking password!”

“Darling,” Sophia’s smile is exactly the same as it was when Arthur still thought she was his loving girlfriend. Which makes it incredibly creepy. “You are Uther Pendragon’s son. And we have magic. All we need to do is for you to log into the company’s system. We’ll do the rest.”

The door suddenly opens and a tall figure enters the room. Arthur remembers the haunted creaking of the floor from the day before. Did the guy come here during the night? Or was he here already, hiding under some stupid invisibility cloak?

From the chair where Arthur’s sitting, the man seems even taller than he is in reality. When he bends over him, Arthur recognizes Edwin.

“You!” Arthur cries out. “Where’s Merlin? What have you done to him?”

“And hello to you too,” Edwin says sweetly. “You’re asking me about Merlin? Really? What have _I_ done? What have _you_ done, more like. Gaining his trust. Breaking him.”

 _I’m fucked. I fucked up and I’m fucked. Fuck!_ Even if Edwin is teasing him, Arthur knows a truth when he hears one.

“I can help you, you know,” he says quickly. “I was prepared to do that. The con changed my perspective. I can work with you, help you in whatever you’re going to do to Magic Now.”

Sophia’s laugh is high-pitched and melodious. 

“You really are far dafter than I imagined,” she says. “You want me to believe that? You haven’t exactly shared the knowledge about your sudden, week-long change of heart with your girlfriend.”

“I shared it with Morgana.”

“Of course you did,” Sophia nods, barely supressing laughter. “Because she’s your sister. And your sister will always cover for you. Was the plan to use Merlin your own, or did you share it with her? Or, maybe Uther told you to do that?”

“Uther doesn’t know I went to the con.”

“No kidding. But I don’t care. What Uther doesn’t know, is that I’m magical. And he’ll never know that. We’ll break up tomorrow, after the work’s done. You’ll tell your darling father that it just didn’t work out. Unless I’d have some more use for you. I might, actually. Who knows. Then, you’ll still be my affectionate boyfriend.”

“Do you really think I won’t talk?” asks Arthur, eyeing Edwin and Sophia. “Do you want to wipe my memory of today, or what?”

This time it’s Edwin’s turn to laugh.

“You have no idea how magic really works, do you?” he says. “Well, no wonder, after all, that’s typical of Magic Now. Do you really think anyone would be able to magically tamper with somebody’s memories? Taken how little we know about human brain? No, there are far easier methods of preventing you from talking.”

“One of which would be to ally yourself with me and stop this threat nonsense,” provides Arthur.

“I don’t think so. Sophia, let your dad in.”

“Wait, what? Your dad’s here as well?”

Arthur really knows he shouldn’t be surprised by now. After all, maybe they had some magic invisibility cloak for Aulfric’s car, as well. Or, maybe it was just hidden somewhere in the woods.  
Sophia walks out of the room, only to come back a few moments later, her dad walking step in step with her, the false smile which Arthur knows all too well illuminating his face. In his hand, Aulfric bears a bracelet. Edwin, who’s been sitting by Arthur’s side all this time, smiles sharply and takes the bracelet from Aulfric’s hand.

“Do you recognize this by any chance?” he asks.

“Where did you get this? You need a prescription for that!”

“Oh, Arthur,” says Sophia. “I’ve been your girlfriend for a year and you really think I couldn’t manage to sneak out a tiny suppressing bracelet from Magic Now in all this time?”

“You want to shut me up with a _magic suppressor_? Are you mad?” Arthur asks.

“Not exactly, my dear boy,” says Aulfric, his voice even more irritating than usual. “That’s to say, the suppressing function is still there, but it doesn’t matter for you, son. You’re not magical. I, however, added some… special features to the whole thing. You see, it has a magical bug inside. It will spy on you, and it will prevent you from blabbing about our plans to anyone. You’ll find yourself… rather shocked at the punishment for indiscretion.”

Edwin takes Arthur’s left hand, unceremoniously, and clasps the bracelet over Arthur’s wrist.

“It will burn your skin or send electrical shocks through your body,” he says in a matter-of-fact voice. “I suggest you don’t try to set it off. Fire burns are painful. Believe me, I know.”

The bracelet isn’t heavy, and Arthur doesn’t feel much of a difference after it’s put on. But they’re right. He doesn’t have magic. There is nothing to be felt.

There is a small, circular lock on the bracelet. Arthur doesn’t know much about those, but he doesn’t remember them having one. It looks vaguely like the trolley locks into which you put a coin to unblock them when you go shopping.

“Don’t you think Uther will ask about it when he sees it?” Arthur asks, lifting his eyebrows.

“Sweetie,” Sophia says, the irony seeping from her voice. “First you assume we’re capable of wiping your memories, then you think a simple invisibility spell is beneath us? Such ignorance.”

She mutters few incomprehensible words and Arthur blinks. The bracelet isn’t there, at least, he doesn’t see it, though he can still feel its touch.

“Now, let’s get to business,” Edwin says, putting Sophia’s laptop on Arthur’s lap. “Lead the way, Arthur P.”

“How long are you planning on keeping me in this… thing?” he asks and looks up, surprised, seeing all three of them smile in a rather dangerous manner.

“Oh, that will depend on the one who has the key to it,” says Edwin, solemn. “You know, it’s a special bracelet for kids. You can’t just open it as you please. Only the kid’s parents are authorized. And the therapist, of course. Let’s not forget about the therapist. A kid can’t decide about themselves. You must make decisions for them. A kid can suffer. Why not?”

“Listen, I’m really not responsible for what Gaius or any other therapist did to any of you magicals…,” starts Arthur, but he’s cut short by Sophia.

“Merlin has the key,” she says. “This was all his idea, in fact.”

Arthur feels blood rushing to his face.

“I don’t believe you,” he groans. “I don’t…” _Merlin’s not like that,_ he wants to say, but he bites his lip. _Do I know him enough, anyway? Why wouldn’t he do that, after that I’ve done to him?_

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Edwin laughs. “You really think Merlin doesn’t know how those things work? You think he was never put in one of them? Oh, Arthur, Arthur. I almost wish you had magic, only to know how it feels when they put it on you.”

“Enough of that, children,” Aulfric says. “Please, Arthur, make yourself at home. The laptop is all yours.”

***

It all started on Wednesday, a day after Merlin’s second breakdown, when Edwin visited him to ask how he was (Mum’s face when she opened the door for him was a crossover between delight, awe and a little bit of fear). Merlin invited him inside, calmly, and one of the first things Edwin saw was the bracelet on his wrist.

“Bloody hell! What have you done to yourself?”

“Oh, so you know what it is,” Merlin muttered.

“Of course I know. I went through the same therapy as you did. What are you, a masochist?”

“How do you do that?” Merlin asked as they sat down in the kitchen, Hunith strategically retreating to the living room. “You are so controlled. One would think you never met Gaius, or anyone at Magic Now for that matter.”

Edwin smiled sadly.

“I’m older than you, Merlin,” he said. “I had more time to heal. And you haven’t seen me angry.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“No, but really,” Edwin continued, “I came to help you. I brought a book about magic. It’s near impossible to get it nowadays, but I have a copy, the courtesy of Alice Pots herself. It has relaxation techniques for the magicals, spells to help you center your raw power… You start learning today, and you’ll see, it’ll be better in no time. Take this fucking bracelet off.”

“No!” Merlin cried and it came out a bit louder than he intended. Edwin raised his eyebrows.

“You poor kid,” he said, as if he understood everything that was going on in Merlin’s head. “I’m leaving the book with you anyway. Make use of it in your own time.”

“I want my mum to be safe, I want our flat to be whole, I want…,” started Merlin and stopped, overwhelmed by emotion. It had always been the strangest and most unpleasant experience, to get emotional with the bracelet on: the magic was still there – not like in Aredian’s led box, to be sure – but it felt as if it had been put in a textile bag: contained, but still soaking through a little. Merlin felt the tingle on his fingers and his eyes probably went gold. Apart from that, only a tiny vibration of the table indicated that there was magic at play at all.

“Tell me about your plan to use Arthur,” said Merlin to draw his attention to something useful. Not that it didn’t cost his magic to bubble either.

And Edwin told him. About Sophia, who was Arthur’s girlfriend, but it was all pretense; about the ways she’d used her influence over Arthur throughout the year (for instance, she’d apparently convinced him to choose a financial plan which, in the end, turned out less favorable for the company); about Sophia’s father who was a very talented magical engineer and was just giving the last touches to a device that’ll prevent Arthur from talking; at last, about the breech.

“This is the most important plan Sophia’s been working on over the year,” Edwin said. “The grand finale, in a manner of speaking. We only have one problem. We need some object to control the bracelet remotely. Aulfric experimented with various things – keys, parts of telephones, even a real magical staff, you won’t believe it, it really looks like something from a fairy tale – but nothing worked efficiently enough.”

“And what does Arthur’s contraption look like?” asked Merlin. Edwin stared at him, eyes squinted, a guilty expression on his face.

“It’s a modified magic suppressor, just like yours,” he said finally. “The kid model. Sophia snatched it from under Uther’s nose some time ago.”

“Bloody hell,” said Merlin, exhaling. “Aulfric is really talented, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. But how do you eavesdrop on a bracelet? Aulfric tried to enchant the key to it, but it didn’t work.”

Merlin looked at his own wrist. An idea started forming in his head.

“You have to join it with another bracelet,” he said, simply. “You have to enchant them both to be a pair. I… I saw it done once, in Magic Now. They treated siblings this way. _To inspire a sense of responsibility,_ Gaius said. When one of the kids got stressed out, the other’s bracelet started vibrating. And you could hear an echo of the words spoken in the bracelet’s proximity.”

“Shit,” said Edwin. “Fucking bastards. They had to develop it when I was already out of there.” 

“I suppose,” Merlin sighed. “We can use their evil for good, I guess. Only now, the other bracelet must be the adult version, to allow control. And you’ll have to modify the key. There has to be one coin-key for both of them.”

“But we don’t have a second bracelet,” said Edwin quickly, only then following Merlin’s gaze. “Oh. I see.”

Merlin nodded.

“But how… you won’t have to wear it, will you? How will you magically eavesdrop on Arthur with a magic suppressor on?”

“I think I will have to wear it. I don’t know. We’ll need to meet with this Aulfric and he’ll tell us, I guess. But if somebody else enchants the bracelets, I don’t think I’ll need my magic to listen. I might have uncontrolled power, but I know the difference between casting spells and using enchanted objects, you know. Even a non-magical can use them.”

“But… Merlin, it’ll be painful for you.”

Merlin let out a hollow laugh.

“I wasn’t planning on taking it off, anyway,” he said.

They met Aulfric on the same day, in Sophia’s flat. Merlin couldn’t help but eye carefully the girl who was supposedly Arthur’s girlfriend, and couldn’t stop himself from feeling a mixture of jealousy and pity, and hated himself for that. _Oh, Arthur, you’re going to feel so betrayed,_ he thought, trying to sound menacing even in his own head. _Just as I did._ The menacing tone sounded rather miserable, though.

Aulfric was delighted at Merlin’s idea, and confirmed some of the intuitions he had. Even Sophia, a class-A pretty girl with a rather impenetrable expression, seemed rather impressed.

“Dad would love to have you as his assistant one day,” she said with a tiny smile. “Wouldn’t you, dad?”

“But… I studied Literature,” protested Merlin faintly.

“You have magical intuition,” said Aulfric, “that shouldn’t be wasted on books. You should design your own magical devices. I’ll be happy to help you.”

“I guess I’ll need to work out my own magic first,” responded Merlin, a bit ruefully. Aulfric only smiled.

They sat down to work immediately. It took almost four hours to design the enchantment. In the meantime, Sophia’s flatmate came, and it turned out the pair of them shared much more than space. Merlin didn’t have much to do apart from sitting with his arm outstretched as Aulfric was tampering with his bracelet, so he listened to them chatting. Both girls grew up only with fathers, both of their fathers were magicals, both had been discriminated in their workplaces in the past, and both daughters were very much attached to the idea of bringing them some justice. Merlin was impressed by their resolve.

And then, at some point in the afternoon which turned into evening, Sefa and Sophia kissed, and Merlin felt sorry for Arthur again, and he almost banged his head on the desk for feeling that.

“Done,” said Aulfric at the same time.

Merlin felt a rush of warmth radiating through his bracelet. For a moment, it glowed red, and Merlin got scared it was going to burn him, but the feeling soon passed. Then, Arthur’s future bracelet glowed.

“Put your ear to your wrist,” said Aulfric. “What do you hear?”

“Um… a soft hum, I guess. Oh, and your words. Kinda multiplied. I hear them both from your mouth and from the bracelet.”

“Perfect. It works almost like a phone. Now, I’ll teach you the commands.”

It was right then when Merlin realized what it would really mean to control Arthur in that way. As Aulfric taught him to tap his bracelet in certain ways and Merlin observed the other one getting coal-hot, or jumping as electricity run through, a lump sat in his throat. He gulped.

“You sure you apt to this task, boy?” asked Aulfric, his forehead wrinkled.

Merlin thought about Arthur. Arthur, who helped him calm down. Who earned a place in his speech. All the while being Arthur fucking Pendragon who came to the con only to spy on him and God knows what he needed that for.

“I am apt,” said Merlin in a cold voice.

Aulfric nodded and started working on the key.

“I’ll have to redesign the other side,” he said, “so it opens Arthur’s bracelet. You’ll be two sides of the same coin,” he laughed. Merlin didn’t laugh back.

“Will we need this option, anyway?” asked Sophia, walking towards them. “I don’t want him to talk ever in his life.”

“We’ll see how it all goes,” said her father calmly. “We won’t condemn Merlin to wearing his bracelet for the rest of his life, you know.”

“What happens if I take off the bracelet without freeing Arthur?” asked Merlin.

“You stop hearing him. But you don’t open his bracelet. It just becomes useless.”

A knock on the door prevented Merlin from asking any more questions. For a second, everyone stayed still and Merlin felt tension rising in the room. But then, Freya’s voice came through the door.

“I brought you some pizza, folks!”

Merlin shoot a glance at Edwin.

“So, she’s in it too?”

Edwin smiled.

“In principle. She doesn’t know about the latest developments, of course.”

Freya walked into the room, three huge pizzas balancing in her hands. She looked at Merlin and her face lit up. Then, she looked down at the bracelet and almost dropped the pizzas.

“Fuck! What on earth are you doing??”

She wasn’t happy with the explanation. Not at all. In fact, Merlin could see she was furious, even more so that she knew she came too late to prevent it all. And also because she still wanted to fight for their cause.

“Merlin, what happened to your peaceful ideas?” she asked at last, defeated, chewing on her veggie pizza.

“Arthur,” said Merlin curtly. That, finally, shut her up. She knew, Edwin had told her. She shot Merlin a glance full of pity.

“Don’t,” he said, irritated.

“The key’s done,” announced Aulfric at the same time. Finally. It was almost 10 p.m.

“Rest, lad,” said Aulfric. “You’ll need a lot of mental preparation before the weekend.”

“You can stay here, if you want,” added Sefa.

Merlin just nodded and wrote to his mum that he won’t be coming back for the night. Told her not to worry. He was safe, with friends.

Merlin glanced at Edwin. The girls’ flat had two rooms, but there was no doubt it was only for show. Probably for Arthur’s visits, as he must have been told they were just flatmates.

“Doesn’t Arthur come here from time to time?” Merlin asked, provoking giggles from Sefa and Sophia.

“Sefa’s rather good at playing an unpleasant, nosy friend,” Sophia said. “And Arthur has a flat all for himself. No, he doesn’t come here if he could help it.”

And that convinced Merlin in the end. Not only to stay, but also to stay with Edwin, who apparently didn’t have anything to do on Thursday morning. 

Merlin still had the bracelet on when he showered and went to bed. He still had it on when Edwin kissed him, complaining about the proximity of the bloody thing that was setting him off.  
“You really don’t want to experience my magic now,” muttered Merlin in between the kisses. “I’ll have to turn you on some other way.”

He didn’t have to try too much. In the end, when Merlin, rather clumsily, grabbed Edwin’s cock, he felt it getting hard under his touch.

Merlin himself was only mildly aroused. He knew it was partly due to the bracelet. It dulled his senses, it ruined him. But he couldn’t take it off. It was too late for that. And he won’t take it off for a long time to come.

He also knew he wasn’t big on getting it on with people he didn’t know that well. That’s what he always told himself.

But the theory hadn’t worked with Arthur, had it?

No, he couldn’t think about Arthur. He looked at Edwin, focused on him, trying to remember every feature of his interesting face.

He managed to get hard in the end and when he came, it was more like relief than pleasure.

He fell asleep almost immediately afterwards.


	8. Chapter 8

_Merlin, it’s Arthur. I’m sorry I deceived you. It should have never happened._

No response.

Arthur is back in his apartment. He hasn’t spoken to anyone since he came back, and brushed off Morgana’s attempts at calling him, texting her he was tired. Which was true. Which was more than true.  
It wasn’t long after the breech that his phone started ringing incessantly. It was Uther. Arthur winced as he drove through the woods in his sad, empty car. He wasn’t ready for this. For a whole week, he had been bracing himself for quitting the company in a big style, and now he was forced to remain secretive. Quitting now was out of the question.

Arthur didn’t have the stamina to pick up the phone.

Uther rang about twenty times. There were also panicked texts from Leon and Owain. At last, Arthur got a headache from the vibrating phone and decided it was enough. When he got back to his flat, he turned the damned thing off and went to sleep. He didn’t even bother to shower. He fell on the bed in his clothes and dozed off immediately.

When he wakes up in the morning and turns his phone on before the whole reality fully hits him again, he has twenty-five unpicked calls, twenty-two from Uther and three from Morgana. Arthur winces.  
And then, instead of responding to any of this, he writes to Merlin.

There is no response, so Arthur writes again.

_I really changed my mind about Magic Now. Thanks to you. I wanted to quit, but now they made me keep the secret._

No response for a long time. Arthur waits and scratches at his wrist mindlessly before realizing why he’s doing it. He stares at his left hand, but he still can’t see the bracelet.

Maybe Merlin has changed his number. This wouldn’t be strange after he realized who Arthur really was. Nobody would like to live with a knowledge that a potentially dangerous guy might track them down.

A sensation that, Arthur realizes, isn’t unfamiliar to him right now.

He still can’t bring himself to thinking that Merlin’s potentially dangerous, though. But he is, isn’t he? He can blast lightnings at people, and he has a twisted imagination. Anyone who comes up with the whole bracelet idea would. He fooled you with his good looks and his shyness. He must have.

Arthur almost laughs out loud when he realizes that Merlin’s actions actually started convincing him to hate the magicals all over again. _Well done, mate. Even my father didn’t manage to accomplish that._

When Arthur finally gives up on waiting for Merlin’s text, a response comes:

_You can scratch all you like, this bracelet’s not coming off._

“Spy,” Arthur mutters to himself, wondering how it really works. How much of him does Merlin hear and see? God, he hopes not everything. A morning wank with a spy on your wrist doesn’t really sound that appealing.

It’s a far worse type of spying than the one Arthur was planning before the con. What he did was wrong, but he doesn’t deserve to be punished like that.

 _It’s not you, Merlin,_ he thinks miserably, scorning himself for the thought.

No matter how much he tells himself that Merlin has cunningly fooled him as to his own appearance, Arthur knows that he saw him vulnerable. He knows the breakdown at the con wasn’t faked. And he also knows that, although Merlin losing control might mean unintentional harm for those who surround him, Arthur couldn’t spot signs of intentional malice in him.

Merlin was the butterfly guy once, for fuck’s sake.

Arthur can’t help but wonder if the bracelet would really hurt him if he tried to blab about the breech. He’s not sure he wants to find out. He prefers to cling to a last, absurd shred of hope in Merlin’s goodness, and chooses not to challenge it.

But he has to live his life somehow, even if he’s so rubbish with people, even if he can’t even distinguish between Sophia’s fake affection and true care, even if he takes a dangerous magical for a nice, adorable guy.

He’s going to make his own decisions, even if they lead him into shit. Fuck it all. If he’s so useless that he’s going down in life, then he’s going down with style.

 _I’m not asking u to take the bracelet off,_ he writes to Merlin. _I won’t tell anyone anyway._

Pleading with one’s oppressor? Uther would be appalled. 

Arthur doesn’t care.

 _I don’t believe u,_ Merlin writes.

_If you don’t, then why haven’t u changed ur number?_

No response. After a few moments, Arthur writes another text.

_Well then, you’ll see. In detail. Because u can, creeper._

He doesn’t even have time to wait for a comeback before his phone buzzes violently. Arthur catches himself on freezing, while sweat trickles his forehead. He doesn’t look at the screen for a few seconds, and when he does, he inflates instantly.

Morgana.

“For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you??” she shouts so much Arthur has to keep the phone away from his ear. “We had a serious security breach, God knows how many therapy transcripts are gone, one of the video sessions has been posted anonymously on the web, Uther’s threatening to kill anyone responsible, and you turn off your phone! Sex with Sophia that good, eh?” she adds and Arthur can’t help but cringe.

“I am… sorry?” he says, unable to produce anything even mildly placating.

“Sorry? You bloody will be unless you have a good excuse for leaving me all alone to deal with Dad’s wrath! Do you?”

“Em…” Arthur glances briefly in the direction of his left wrist, where he still feels the invisible weight. “I can’t say that I do.”

“Bloody hell!” yells Morgana. “Bloody, bloody hell. Please tell me it doesn’t have anything to do with your new magical friends.”

“I don’t have any new magical friends. Meeting them once hardly means I’m conspiring with them.”

There is a sigh on the other side.

“Please don’t lie to me,” says Morgana. “I know when you’re lying. I know you wanted to quit. But if you had anything to do with it, you made it worse for yourself. Dad would never stomach it now. He’ll think you’re cowardly to leave at such a sensitive time.”

“Was he ever going to stomach it?” asks Arthur, trying to make his voice sound playful. The attempt is pitiful. 

“Oh, please. Tell me. I swear I won’t tell Uther. You know me.”

“I…,” Arthur starts, and then suddenly, there is warmth on his left forearm.

The bracelet is getting warmer.

It’s not unpleasant, at least, not yet. For now, he feels like he’s touching a cup with hot coffee. A well-insulated cup.

It’s a warning.

 _No, this can’t be happening,_ thinks Arthur as the last shreds of his hope in Merlin disappear. _You wouldn’t do this to me._

 _Yes, I would,_ says something in his head, and the something has Merlin’s voice, which makes Arthur freak out and almost drop the phone. They told him they didn’t tamper with minds. They told him it was too complicated. Were they lying even about that?

Or is he going mad?

“Arthur?” Morgana says on the other end of the line. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” responds Arthur weakly. “Sorry. It’s a lot to take on. I’m afraid I really can’t tell you anything.”

The bracelet goes cool again.

 _I’m not afraid of pain,_ Arthur thinks defiantly. _I should be courageous, just like Dad told me, I should spill it out and damn the consequences._

 _Don’t be stupid._ That damned voice again.

“Oh, damn it,” says Arthur, only realizing that it came out of his mouth once he said it.

But Morgana doesn’t realize what’s happening.

“Yes, well, that sums it up rather well,” she says glumly. “You can tell me in your own time, if you want to. It’s just… you know, I’m worried about Mordred. The recording that got out wasn’t of him, but if they have his file… I don’t want him to be exposed. Not when I was starting to build some trust with him. I was supposed to help him, and now it can all go fuck itself. Jesus, Arthur!”

“I know, I know,” he says, barely bearing the heartache he hears in Morgana’s voice. “I… I don’t think they will do any harm to their own kind… if it’s the magicals who did this.”

“I know it’s them,” she mutters. “And it makes me almost hate them.”

 _Damn it, Merlin, damn it, Edwin, damn it, Sophia,_ Arthur thinks. _Is that what you really wanted?_

“What is on the recording?” he asks. “The one that’s been posted online?”

Morgana’s response comes out shaky.

“It’s… with Aredian,” she says. “It shows him restraining a boy and locking him away. Mind you, the boy’s pretty violent… He pushes everyone away… magically. He scratches at their arms.”

“But he’s just a boy.”

“He is. And he’s only like that when they try to make him stop using magic.”

“Typical,” Arthur finds himself saying. “I hate this place, sis. I do hate it.”

 _You only say it because you know I’m listening,_ a voice in Arthur’s head says.

_No, you idiot. I’m bloody talking to my sister, so stop eavesdropping._

_You wish._

“Arthur? What have you been doing over the weekend, anyway? Did Sophia make you turn off your phone?” Morgana asks.

“I broke up with Sophia.” 

He thought it would be far more difficult to say these words. But it comes out smooth and would be almost smug if Arthur didn’t remember that it wasn’t really him who broke up with her, and that the circumstances were hardly flattering.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Arthur,” Morgana’s voice is full of concern. “God, I’ve been insensitive, I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. You were right about her. We didn’t… click. I don’t know, it was all fake. And the weekend only made me feel that even stronger.”

That, at least, isn’t a lie, and Arthur feels pretty smug about it.

“Did she take it well?”

Arthur grins gloomily to himself.

“As well as she could,” he says.

“Is it… is it because of Merlin? Please, don’t lie to me, not this time.”

 _Oh, fuck._ What is he to say now? _Shit._

Subconsciously, Arthur is waiting for Merlin’s voice to say something snarky in his head. But the voice is silent.

Oh, what the hell, thinks Arthur, and, just as Morgana’s starting to say “sorry, didn’t mean to snoop”, Arthur cuts her off:

“Yes, it has to do with Merlin.”

He feels his bracelet heating up very quickly, until it’s hot like a kettle. Arthur inhales sharply, letting out a small whimper. Fuck, it hurts. The pain slowly clouds all of Arthur’s other thoughts, but before it does, he’s almost amused at the misunderstanding Merlin clearly fell for here. I’m not going to tell her, he thinks weakly. The bracelet only gets hotter. Arthur cries out in pain.

“Arthur?? What’s wrong??”

“Boiled my hand making coffee,” he says weakly. “Sorry, got to go. Merlin…” and before he starts screaming, he adds: “God help me, I’m in love with him.”

As he throws the phone away, he notices the bracelet suddenly cooling down, becoming icy cold. He lets out a sigh of relief. It’s only after a moment that he realizes the bloody thing didn’t just stop hurting him, it’s actually actively trying to soothe his burned hand, colder than cold water, colder than ice cubicles.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says weakly, collapsing on the bed. He shouldn’t be saying that. He knows he shouldn’t.

And the words he hears in his head – it’s all right, everything’s going to be all right – he must be imagining them, because there is no other option, really.

***

What on earth has Merlin done?

Crawled in his bed, he sticks his head between his knees. The bracelet tugs into his skin, buzzing, the dullness it causes almost painful for his muscles.

Merlin wishes he could blame his actions on the bracelet’s numbing power, but he knows it’s not as simple as that. 

He just wanted to warn Arthur. He was furious at the prat, and he just wanted to warn him.

 _It’s not my fault, things got out of control,_ he says to himself, as if trying to plea his cause before some nonexistent tribunal.

But he knows it’s no good.

I’m never going to hurt him ever again, he thinks, miserably, both loving and hating himself for this thought. Aulfric was right when he voiced his doubts about Merlin not being apt for the task. And Freya was right to be appalled. He should have listened to her.

But they achieved their goal. The video got the world shaken. Or, at least, those parts of the world that care enough about human rights.

It had more than a hundred thousand views when it was first taken down. But Sophia was relentless and reuploaded it to several places, and now the total number of views from all of them was more than a million. In just two days. There were also hundreds of enraged comments, some of them, Merlin is sad to conclude, not entirely magical-friendly. Apparently, some people think that the kid in the video (whose face Sophia had the grace to blur before she uploaded it) got what he deserved.

But there were more voices for support. Various petitions were circling around, and the kid’s parents decided to sue Magic Now and use the video as evidence. Protests were about to be organized under the clinic.

 _It was all worth it,_ thinks Merlin.

Sophia’s dad is an amazing engineer and the whole magical spying system is flawless. The bracelet worked like a bag and a whip, all in one, and Merlin could listen to what Arthur was saying in the conversation with his sister, and heat it up remotely, flawlessly. He wasn’t planning on using the electroshocks. He never had been, in fact.

But just as Merlin thought he had every feature of the bracelet system under control, something strange happened.

He heard Arthur’s voice in his head.

Merlin is aware that there are some magicals who can communicate telepathically. But that can’t be happening now. Arthur doesn’t have magic.

And yet, his voice was as clear as day in Merlin’s head. And it wasn’t Merlin’s imagination. The voice was in accordance to what Arthur was saying out loud, commenting on it. It had Arthur’s tone, though it sounded a bit different, as if contained in a well. It made Merlin dizzy. Of course, there was always the option that Merlin was going mad.

So just to try it out, he responded to the voice in his head.

And Arthur heard him. Because he got confused and he said the response instead of thinking it, and Merlin heard him through the bracelet.

This made Merlin panic a little. What if Arthur could hear all his thoughts? Merlin was wearing his bracelet, it wasn’t like he could put any guarding spells on his mind. He tried to think inwardly, to address his thoughts to himself, and that Arthur didn’t seem to hear. On the other hand, when he directed them at Arthur, there was always a response.

He got so fascinated by it that he almost missed it when Arthur mentioned Merlin’s name to his sister. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his body. Merlin snapped, not thinking much, panicking, turning the heat on above the warm warning level.

He heard Arthur’s screams in his head.

Merlin lost it. He stroked the tiny button on his bracelet to cool it down immediately. Still, he could hear the screams, and realized it must take some time for the signal to transmit to Arthur. He kept stroking until he couldn’t go any further. Arthur’s bracelet must have been cold like ice by this point, and his scream subsided. Merlin couldn’t help but repeat _it’s all right, everything’s going to be all right_ over and over again. He didn’t even notice if Arthur heard him or not.

Then, he buried his head under the pillow and wished he stopped existing.

He can still unlock the bracelet. Put the coin inside, losing contact with Arthur, or, better still, find him and free him.

But it would send a signal to Sophia and her dad. Merlin can’t do that, at least, not now.

Why on earth did he make up that ruse? thinks Merlin now, once it’s all over. Arthur was trying to fool Morgana, that’s for sure. He made up a story about being in love with Merlin to avoid talking about the breech. But there were many easier ways to do that without risking getting Merlin anxious. He could have said no, the breakup with Sophia didn’t have anything to do with Merlin, for starters. He could have mentioned anyone else, someone his sister didn’t know. Someone who didn’t exist. Anything. Instead, he decided to play the dangerous game, and he almost lost.

Coming to think of it, why did Morgana ask if the breakup had anything to do with Merlin in the first place?

That was odd.

Did Arthur tell her anything about Merlin after the con? That is, anything apart from the spying report he no doubt prepared? 

Could it possibly be true? Was Arthur really in love with Merlin, admitting to it knowingly while Merlin was torturing him?

 _Oh my God, I was totally torturing him._ The realization comes to Merlin in its full force and almost knocks him out. It’s good his magic is subdued, or else woe to his room. Still, Merlin feels it silently erupt in his body, prickling him with a thousand needles from the inside. It hurts.

He has to occupy himself with something to disperse the negative thoughts. Edwin wanted him to “just rest”, but he can’t do that. Not when resting means going over what happened again and again. So, Merlin calls Freya instead.

Since the breech, she’s been the one who occupied herself with sorting all the information they’ve got. The video’s release was their main objective, but it was hard to resist the temptation of looking over the other files in hope of extracting something useful. Freya was the best person for this job. It was obvious she’ll be discreet and make sure no sensitive data get to the public opinion. Merlin was grateful Sophia gave her this responsibility. 

“Can I help you with the files?” Merlin says quickly once he hears her _hello_. He doesn’t bother with preambles, not now. “I want to do something. Inertia's bad for my head.”

“You are doing something,” Freya says, uncertain. “How are you coping, anyway?”

He senses wariness in her voice and swallows uncomfortably. He’s well aware Freya’s concerned about him, but at the same time, she must also be worried about what he might do.

“I… okay, I guess,” he mumbles. “Arthur tries to convince me he’s on our side, but I don’t believe him.”

“I guess we’ll see,” sighs Freya. “I’m sorry you felt betrayed by him.”

“Let’s not talk about it, okay? I want to take my mind off it. Do you need help with reading through the files?”

“Merlin,” in Freya’s voice, he hears such fondness that his heart melts. “If you want to take your mind off things, go watch a funny movie. Don’t ask me to handle you proofs of somebody’s trauma.”

“It’s all right. I want to help. Just… don’t give me Gaius’ cases, and I’ll be all right.”

There is a short pause.

“Well then,” says Freya finally, “what about Morgana’s? Or is it too close to…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” says Merlin quickly. “The more we have on the Pendragons themselves, the better. They won’t be able to say it was just one employee who’s gone rogue.”

“I guess,” says Freya and Merlin knows she agrees with him. Since Uther stopped conducting therapies himself about five years ago, focusing on the company’s new scary developments instead, Morgana was the only Pendragon active as a therapist. Not that it really changed things, in Merlin’s opinion. Even if none of the family participated in the therapies first-hand, their activity was still highly dubious.

Better to find what the soft-voiced sister of Arthur’s was up to during her sessions.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur meets with Uther the next day. After the twenty-two calls he ignored, and after selfishly forcing Morgana to cover for him, he can’t deflect any longer. He was bracing himself for a difficult conversation; now that he knows it’ll be practically deadly no matter what he does, his fear is suddenly gone.

 _Oh, what the hell,_ he thinks and wonders if Merlin can hear him.

He dreamt about Sophia. About the last moment before he lost consciousness, her cold eyes upon his, her hands fumbling with his pants. _Unfuckable,_ she said, regret in her voice. He very much hoped he was unfuckable back then. As Sophia’s eyes turned from green to red, Arthur woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. He couldn’t fall asleep after. As he’s standing in the lift which goes smoothly up to the twentieth floor where Uther’s office is, Arthur stares blankly at his reflection in the mirror, noticing blue circles under his eyes. I broke up with Sophia. I couldn’t sleep because of that. I’m believable.

Uther knows how to match his surroundings to the conversation. A meeting in his house – Arthur’s former family home – would have been loaded with a whole lot of emotional baggage; in the office, they can go all professional. Arthur wishes Morgana was here, but he knows she’ll come later. She has been summoned, too.

Uther greets him coldly, inviting him to sit down. He’s not alone: professor Gaius is sitting in the chair beside him, his Eyebrow of Doom raised half-suspiciously, half-accusingly. Or, maybe it’s just Arthur’s conscience playing tricks with him. Uther’s face, on the other hand, is impenetrable, but Arthur doesn’t get fooled by it. He knows his father had technically no reason to conduct this meeting with him. Uther has a whole squad of managers to get Magic Now through any crisis, and Arthur’s specialization has only tangentially anything to do with security, and almost nothing with PR. But still, Arthur is Uther’s son, and he’s treated like a second in command. He still is, even despite being such a disappointment. 

_Well, that is about to change,_ thinks Arthur, a heavy weight resting on his chest as Uther gestures him to sit down. He can’t help but feel regret. Every time he gains acceptance, he seems to lose it within seconds. Such are things with Uther, such were things with Merlin and Sophia (though with the latter, he’s disillusioned now, there was never any respect there). He only has Morgana left, and maybe a few casual friends, but they don’t count.

Uther’s words interrupt Arthur’s train of thought.

“I was about to admonish you for not picking up your phone,” he says sternly, “but Morgana told me you had your reasons.”

Arthur looks his father in the eye and quickly lowers his gaze, staring at the table separating them instead. He wonders what exactly Morgana told Uther. He nods with uncertainty, scratching absent-mindedly at his left wrist where the weight of the bracelet is still to be felt, and where the red marks from the day before don’t want to fade even after he treated them with a special balm. He’d rather not let his father see them, so he hides his hand under the table.

“I am sorry about Sophia,” Uther says in a disappointed tone. Arthur doesn’t look at him.

Father doubtlessly must think that the breakup was somehow Arthur’s fault – how to otherwise explain that a perfectly sweet girl has suddenly disappeared from his son’s life? Oh, if only you knew, Arthur thinks bitterly.

“But we are not here to talk about it,” Uther continues. “We are to discuss the breech. We need to issue a statement.”

“Isn’t Leon supposed to do these things?” Arthur mutters.

Uther sighs. If Arthur didn’t know him, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all. But Arthur is used even to the slightest of changes in his father’s composure.

“I wanted you to do it,” he says. “After all, though you might not be a psychologist, you will one day be in charge of this company. I want to give you this responsibility. The magicals are accusing us of the worst atrocities. Their hate knows no bounds, and it seems that they managed to convince the public to no longer associate my person with help, or goodwill.” Uther winces, also almost invisibly. “From a public standpoint, it might be good for the people to see a new face. Someone who they don’t have any connotations with, but who’s still the family, not just an impersonal CEO. It’s a perfect opportunity for you to step up. Gaius thinks the same.”

Arthur looks up at the professor. An old friend of Father’s, a constant presence in Arthur and Morgana’s life, an adopted uncle, really. And still, a very private man, so private that Arthur had no clue he was once married to Alice Pots. Arthur learned throughout the years that asking the professor about his life was never a good idea; he lived in a world of his research. Arthur also learned not to pay attention to his seemingly stern face. He learned to like him. Because, albeit a bit grumpy, Gaius was always rather nice to him. 

And he’s the same man who tried to force Merlin to quench his powers. Who probably did it to dozens of other kids. Who taught others how to conduct the horrid therapies. Who developed an elaborate theory on doing it.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea, Dad,” says Arthur uncertainly. Upon the word dad, Uther frowns. It’s unprofessional of Arthur to use it now. But he doesn’t care.

“Why not? I’ll tell you everything you need to know for now about magic. You won’t be lacking any knowledge if they ask you questions.”

“No, Dad… I think it’s a bad idea. You know why? Because it’s a breech, not slander. It’s not a pack of lies they uploaded. It’s a real video. The atrocities are real. I don’t want to defend them.”

Now, that was quite a speech, Arthur thinks and winces inwardly as he thinks how it may all seem to Merlin in this moment. The guy must be thinking that Arthur’s showing off. Merlin doesn’t know Uther. He has no idea that nobody in their right mind would decide to show off before this man, risking falling out of his good graces – even if there was a magical mad idiot listening on the other end of the line.  
But Uther doesn’t show any anger. Not yet, in any case.

“The video was taken out of context and conveniently cut,” he says smoothly. “The child was dangerous. There was no other choice but to restrain him.”

“He didn’t seem dangerous before they started messing with him,” mutters Arthur, daring to look his father in the eye, just this once. Uther is unblinking.

“Arthur, really, you have no idea how these therapies work…,” Gaius starts, but Uther silences him with a single movement of his hand. 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Arthur risks. “I talked to Morgana. She knows stuff, doesn’t she? She studied under you, after all. You know she wouldn’t misrepresent the process. She laid the bare facts. The conclusions are mine.”

“Arthur.” Uther’s voice is oddly fond. Is this an act, or does he really care? Maybe he won’t be mad if Arthur leaved the company. Maybe he’d be just… sad. The thought clenches Arthur’s gut. “I don’t doubt Morgana, and I don’t doubt your conclusions. But you are mistaken. You may have a good heart, Arthur, but you know deep down that magic is dangerous. Sometimes drastic measures are necessary to quench it, for everyone’s good, including the magical’s. Remember that magic took your mother, Arthur.”

 _Magic took your mother._ This is a statement Arthur heard often since he was a child, often enough for him to have it imprinted on his soul. And yet, still not often enough. Uther barely speaks about his second wife, and when he does, it’s always in connection to a tragic loss. 

But Arthur is no longer a child who could believe that if his mother was there at one point, and then gone the next, it meant that a vicious magician had taken her. Arthur is not stupid. He figured out that it must have been an accident – or, maybe even a murder – involving some magical who wasn’t in control of their powers. But he needs his father to say it. He needs to know.

“Was it an accident?” he asks without any needless ceremony. “Or did they do it on purpose? Killed Mum. Tell me.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Uther’s expression doesn’t change, but he stills, barely even blinking. Gaius raises his _second_ eyebrow. But it’s too late to back off now.

“Dad, I deserve to know,” Arthur continues. “You are trying to make me your spokesman. You’re using Mum as an argument to put your words into my mouth, and you can’t even tell me what happened? I know it’s painful, but I’m not a child anymore. I have to know.”

The silence continues for a little longer – a while that to Arthur seems to be never ending, and he almost loses hope for any response before Uthers says:

“Gaius, tell him.” His father’s voice is so weak, Arthur doesn’t remember if he ever heard him like that. Maybe once, a long time ago. On occasion of one of the first times when he asked where his mother was.

Gaius looks at Uther uncertainly, and when he receives a nod, he says:

“You know, Arthur, your father never lied to you. Magic did indeed take your mother from you. I tried to remedy it, but to no avail.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. For a moment, he has an absurd vision of Gaius fighting with magical assassins with his bare hands. He waves it off as too ridiculous. Then, he thinks about a magical poison, to which Gaius was trying to prepare an antidote, but failed. This, in turn, sounds like something taken out of medieval legends. And it can’t be right either, because Gaius is a psychologist, not a physician.

And then, sudden understanding dawns on Arthur.

Uther always had an inclination to overdramatise things. He’s a public figure, after all, and his language is accordingly flowery, even when he speaks to his friends and family. Arthur grew up with this, so at some point, it was no wonder to him that the sentence _magic took your mother_ must have been a dramatic, yet euphemistic way to say _a magical killed her, whether on purpose or not, I don’t care._

It never occurred to Arthur to take the statement literally.

“Are you saying…,” Arthur starts, but stops himself mid-sentence. It would probably be better to hear Gaius out. Just listen. Just try to calm down and listen. Arthur scratches his wrist under the table.

“Your mother turned out to be magical, yes,” Gaius says. “It was really a fatal case, I’m afraid. For a long time in her life, she tried to hide it – or, maybe she didn’t even know she was hiding it – but it was too powerful for that. It overtook her. She was no longer the person she once had been. You may remember, Arthur, the last months before she disappeared from your life. She wasn’t very often with you back then, was she?”

“I barely remember,” says Arthur, his voice hollow. “I was four.”

“Well, that’s probably all the best for you,” Gaius says, his voice full of genuine compassion. “You see, there was a risk your mother could do something violent. She didn’t control her power at all. I tried to treat her, but it was no use. She was like a different person. Finally, we had to separate her from you. It was no longer… feasible.”

“But… Morgana was nine. She would have remembered that.” Arthur doesn’t want to allow a persistent thought into his mind: that his mother was literally taken from him, that she didn’t die, that who knows, maybe she’s still alive somewhere – no, that’s too much to take. Arthur prefers to focus on secondary matters.

“Morgana was sent to her mother for a time, as soon as it started,” says Gaius. “She’d probably remember that. But she doesn’t know what really happened either, I can assure you. When she came back to you, Uther told her it was past the funeral already. And as far as you children were concerned, it was.”

“You had… a mock funeral made?”

Arthur barely remembers it. In fact, now that he focuses on it, he doesn’t remember any funeral. He only remembers one of his first visits to the cemetery, where the old family grave had a new plaque added, In memory of Igraine Pendragon engraved in ornamental letters which he could barely decipher at the time. Once, when Arthur was already fifteen, Father told him that Igraine’s body wasn’t there. That gave him some nightmares. He imagined his mother blown up by some magical bomb, or lost at sea as a result of some magical accident.

“No, Arthur,” Gaius almost smiles. “This is not a spy movie. Me and your father agreed that you and Morgana shouldn’t be informed about the matter, at least for some time, but those who had to know, knew.”

And this, precisely this is the moment when Arthur finally snaps.

He stands up, rage on his face, his right hand clutching his left wrist, both of his hands shaking.

“Are you trying to tell me that you imprisoned my own mother in some mental institution while I was grieving after her?? That everybody knew apart from me?? Are you trying to tell me she’s still alive??”

“Arthur, this is not _Jane Eyre_.” Gaius is relentless in his culture references. “Nobody has imprisoned anyone anywhere. Your parents simply divorced and your mother lost custody over you. She was at a mental institution for some time, that’s true, but nobody imprisoned her there. She left after several months, off to live with her cousin. Then she emigrated, met someone else. And yes, as far as I know, she’s still alive. But don’t delude yourself, Arthur. When her magic surfaced, she became a different person. You wouldn’t want to meet her.”

“And she never tried to contact you? Never tried to fight for me?” Arthur is saying these words coldly, almost calmly, but Uther looks at him knowingly, his eyes rather grotesquely wide. For all their shortcomings, the father and the son know each other rather well. It’s Uther, after all, who taught Arthur to control his emotions. 

Arthur walks slowly in Uther’s direction.

“Will you answer me?” he asks in the same icy tone. “Will you stop hiding behind Gaius and answer??”

“Arthur,” Uther says weakly, “all he said is true. Your mother was a different person. There was no use of shaking up your whole world, of reintroducing her to you. It was a lost cause. Magic took the Igraine I knew.”

“Did she try to fight for me or not??”

“She did, yes. We didn’t allow it.”

And that is more than enough. Arthur mounts over his father, hands thumping on the desk. 

“I will kill you!” he shouts. “I will kill you, you understand??”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Uther says, his voice still bearing the last signs of composure, cracking only a little. His eyes are blinking rapidly, though, and his body tenses a little, sensing Arthur’s threatening proximity. “It was the magic. When I met your mother, she was a different person. A sweet, kind, loving person. Magic changed her to something uncontrollable. It was a blow for me as well as for you, you must understand that. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wanted to spare you this pain.”

And then, quieter, his voice finally on the verge of tears:

“I loved your mother. There is not a day when I don’t miss her as she was before it all happened.”

Arthur raises his hand. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. In this very moment, he could do anything. Tears are running down his face and he barely even notices.

He might strike his father. He might shout. He might flip the chairs over.

Instead, he just says:

“You didn’t love my mother. You loved the person she pretended to be.”

“Arthur, I thought I told you enough about magic for you to know…”

Arthur waves his hand. Uther recoils, as if truly believing his son might strike him.

“Magic didn’t take her,” Arthur says, choking on tears. “She _was_ magic. You just failed to notice.”

“Arthur.”

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving this rotten company.”

“You can’t do that!” Uther stands up. They are of the same height, but Arthur still feels small in comparison to his father from time to time. Not today, though. “Whatever you think you saw in the video, whatever you read and whoever brainwashed you, know one thing: there is no way you’re not going to regret this decision. If you were a true son to me, you would never leave me, not when I explained how I wanted to protect you.”

“You? Protect me? From my own mother?? No, I’m sorry, this is too fucking much.” He must leave the room, leave before something awful happens. “I want nothing to do with you, you understand? I’m leaving now. Don’t stop me.”

“I won’t,” Uther says, and his face is like stone.

***

_Merlin, are you there?_

From the lack of signal in the bracelet one would have thought that Merlin’s dead. Since the morning, there has been a total silence. No thoughts in Arthur’s mind, no heat or coldness, nothing.   
Now, Arthur is standing in the elevator again, his face reflected in the mirror, but this time, he’s a total mess, with the blue circles bluer than before, eyes puffy, cheeks wet, hair disheveled. The employees who walk in and out of the lift as it slowly rides down the twenty floors shoot Arthur worried glances, but he pays them no mind.

_Merlin?_

He might not even hear him. Maybe Arthur isn’t directing his thoughts correctly. He has no idea how to do it. Or, maybe Merlin has just lost his interest in him.

Arthur is half-magical. Maybe that’s why he was able to communicate with Merlin in this way in the first place. After all, Aulfric said he couldn’t tamper with his brain. Being half-magical – is it even a thing, anyway? Could he have inherited any of his mum’s powers?

A food for thought. Always better than the knowledge that his mother is out there, somewhere, living, trying to have a new life, missing him, or maybe not missing him anymore, sad, or happy, or…

_Arthur._

_Oh, so you’re alive after all._ Arthur’s inward voice is mocking; is it even possible to create mocking thoughts? Doesn’t matter. The lift reaches the ground floor and Arthur walks out automatically. _Have you been eavesdropping as usual?_

_I tried not to, but I couldn’t help myself. You shouted so much._

_Great, so you know my biggest secret now. Congratulations. You can go to the press with it. Another scandal. Though it might be difficult to explain how you obtained the info. “Magical bracelet” sounds cool, but a bit wacky. I guess you can always say that you planted a bug on me. Or whatever._

_Arthur, stop._

_Why? I might as well talk._

_I’m so sorry for what happened. I’m not going to tell anyone, why would I?_

_Don’t you like a feeling of power over me?_

There is a short silence as Arthur makes his way to the underground parking space. He’s doing it on autopilot. He doesn’t know what’s the point, but he might as well sit behind the wheel and drive.

 _No,_ says Merlin’s voice finally, _I don’t enjoy the power. In fact, I hate it. And I’m so very, very sorry. I’ll never hurt you again, I promise._

_And should I believe you?_

_You don’t have to. But I know now that you weren’t lying when you said you changed. And I’m not made for hurting people even if they are bad. And you aren’t._

_You should take off my bracelet, then,_ says Arthur. _I won’t talk to my father ever again anyway. I don’t care about your little breech, you can take the secret to the grave._

 _I would take it off,_ says Merlin, _but that would alert Aulfric. Your bracelet has a GPS on it and he’d lose a signal._

_Great, then._

_Arthur, please, don’t do anything stupid._

Arthur snorts to himself. He can’t help it. He’s sitting in his car already anyway, but he’s not moving.

 _What do you think I’d do?_ he asks. _Kill myself? No, I’m not the type._

_Talk to someone, Arthur. Talk to your sister. She seems to like you._

_Oh yes, I forgot, you eavesdropped on our conversation as well._

_I’m sorry. But she seems nice. Nicer… than I thought._

In any other circumstances, Arthur would ask mockingly if Merlin thought that Morgana eats magical children for breakfast, but this time, he lets go. He doesn’t care.

 _I don’t want to overburden her,_ he says. _We might not share the same mother, but she’s not exactly an outsider._

_Then talk to a friend. Don’t you have any?_

Arthur thinks about Gwaine. They share some common topics, that much is true, and Gwaine wasn’t even mad when Arthur finally decided to stop following their meetups with fucking. But he can’t imagine himself telling Gwaine about his mother. Not for anything in the world.

 _I don’t have friends,_ says Arthur, the realization dawning on him as he utters the words in his mind. _I’m a miserable prick, and people keep at a distance from me._

_I’m sorry to hear that._

_I can always talk to you, you know. I’m already doing it._

_I’m not sure it’s a good idea._

_What, are you scared you’re gonna Stockholm Syndrome me into liking you? Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not really in a mood to like anyone right now._

_Are you sure? You want to meet up and talk?_

_Why not? It’s not like I have any job to do._

_Where are you?_

_Magic Now HQ, where else?_

_There is a park nearby, you know it?_

_Sure._

_Half an hour from now, then?_

_So be it._

Arthur leaves the car and decides to walk.

***

“Professor Pots?”

A kindly elderly lady looks at Morgana with a smile that anyone would wish on their grandmother’s face. Morgana, however, never knew her grandparents, so she has nothing to compare it to. Still, she feels the warmth radiating from the woman in soft, orange waves. _Is it my magic that lets me sense that? Or is it just me?_

“Please, come in,” says professor Alice. Her office doesn’t differ much from those at Magic Now – there is a similar desk and a comfy chair, and the whole room has this characteristic aura of neatness that only applies to doctors’ offices. Morgana sits on the verge of the chair, unsure, reluctant to let her muscles relax and sink into the softness. 

Once she found out about prof. Pots – thanks to Arthur, but also to the magical women on the facebook group – scheduling an appointment turned out easier than she imagined. She thought the waiting time would be horribly long, but the professor’s office still, apparently, wasn’t a very busy place. Unlike the psychologists from Magic Now, she wasn’t to be found in bigger establishments. She was independent and apparently only working with one other psychologist and one assistant-turned-secretary. The assistant was a young guy with a rather scared look about his face and a plaque pinned to the collar of his blue shirt, his name – Gilli – scribbled over with a rather terrible style of writing. As Morgana entered the offices, he eyed her rather suspiciously, and no wonder. She had to give her name when she’d booked the appointment. And she’d decided to drop any charade. She just hoped professor Alice respected patient confidentiality.

The offices were cramped. Located on the first floor of a rather old and decrepit tenement house, they were no bigger than an average flat, and that was really small. The corridor with Gilli’s desk was itself no more than four square meters. Morgana barely walked by. _It’s obvious where all the funds for magical health go,_ she thought bitterly. Her father practically had a monopole on the benefactors.

“So, what brings Morgana Pendragon to my humble abode?” asks professor Alice, waking Morgana up from her stupor. The question was asked with some degree of humor, but without clear ill intent. The lady seems more amused than angry or frightened. “I can assure you, I had nothing to do with the recent… scandal.”

“I didn’t come because of that,” says Morgana quickly, licking her lips. “That is, it did play a role, yes, but I didn’t come to investigate. I came for a regular visit. As a client.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” professor Alice says politely. “You have resources at Magic Now. I am sure you know my methods are different, and may even be said to contradict what you do there.”

“Yes, I am aware. I listened to the recording of your speech at the latest MagicCon.”

“I see. And you want to… disagree? Share your insight?”

Morgana takes a deep breath.

“I think I’m magical,” she says quickly, only then realizing she actually said it out loud for the first time. Even Arthur doesn’t know yet. And the Internet didn’t count, as long as the words were typed.  
And shit, it feels so good to say it.

Professor Alice raises her brows.

“I just want you to confirm it or deny it,” says Morgana before the lady has the chance to speak. “And I want help. I don’t want… I don’t want to be treated like they treat people at Magic Now. I know all too well how the things are there, I’m a psychologist.”

“I see,” professor Alice says slowly and for a moment, Morgana thinks that this is all so stupid, she must have embarrassed herself, there is no way this lady would believe her, she’ll just take it as a foolish practical joke, or she’ll say what Gaius always said, _it’s just nightmares, they don’t mean anything, get a prescription for Zolpidem_ – but then, professor Alice continues, and there is only kindness in her voice:

“We’ll have to put it to some kind of a test then, shall we? What were the things that indicated you might be magical?”

She doesn’t judge. Morgana tells her everything – the shattering window, the nightmares – and she seems to believe her. 

“I can’t really do anything visible,” says Morgana, “to demonstrate my magic. If anything happens, it’s involuntary. I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, don’t be,” professor Alice makes a kindly face. “We can test that, you know. Not only Magic Now has its devices, though they are the ones that receive money for distribution.” She winks and Morgana reddens.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m sure it’s not your fault. You were educated as best as you thought was possible, you grew up with a man who believes magic is dangerous. It’s no wonder you believed it, too. And Gaius also can be very persuasive if he wants to.”

“Is it true that you were…,” Morgana starts and instantly regrets her words. She shouldn’t pry.

“Married? Oh, yes, a long time ago. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. I’m way past anger now. In fact, I rather pity him.” As she talks, professor Alice rummages through the drawers of her desk. “He’s living a lie.”

“Well, he certainly has different opinions than you.”

“Oh yes. But you see, it’s not a story of a furious husband casting his wife away because she turned out magical. Oh no, he’s magical too. His powers are relatively small, to be sure. That’s why he managed to supress them almost entirely. That’s why he believes others can, too. But it will catch up with him sooner or later. Maybe it already has, only he doesn’t want to admit it.”

Again, professor Alice’s words are spoken without anger or malice. She really does seem to pity Gaius.

“I had no idea he’s magical.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t want you to know, so it may be wise not to tell him. Aha!” she exclaims suddenly and Morgana jumps in her chair. “Found it. It’s a magic ring, fancy that? Don’t worry, it has nothing to do with magic suppression in any form. I designed several of them, though any serial production is still out of the question, I’m afraid. But my clients are really satisfied with them. Gilli says it’s wondrous. Shall we try it?”

“What does it do?” asks Morgana, eyeing a simple metal ring with some uncertainty.

“It’s an opposite to the magic suppression bracelet,” says professor Alice. “It helps you center your power. When you don’t control it, it floats freely in your body and you have no means to catch it, so to speak, if you are untrained. This ring is like a magnet. It draws all the magic to itself and allows you to do things with it. Depending on your reaction, we can assess if your powers are weak, average or strong. Do you want to try it?”

“Yes.” Morgana opens her palm and professor Alice hands her the ring. It’s cool and pretty light. Morgana puts it on her pointing finger.

In an instant, she feels a rush going through her veins. Something floats through her, something which, she now realizes, she always felt being there, but had never paid any attention to. Something which seemed as obvious as muscles or bones, or blood. It is a bit like blood because it feels liquid, rushing through her to her finger, tickling under her skin. For a moment, Morgana winces – the feeling is new and unfamiliar – but then, she relaxes, feeling suddenly calm, and even sits more comfortably in the chair. She closes her eyes. At last, the rushing feeling subsides slowly, and her finger seems warmer than the rest of her body.

“How do you feel?” asks professor Alice. “Can you describe it?”

“Warm,” says Morgana, not opening her eyes. “There is warmth all around me. And calm.”

“No flashing lights? No feeling like flying?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“All right. Can you clap your hands for me?”

Morgana claps once, twice. Through her eyelids, she sees an orange, glowing light. She opens her eyes. There is a small bulb of light in front of her. She gasps, transfixed.

“I see,” says professor Alice. “Well done. You seem to have average powers, though this is only a preliminary test. People have different types of abilities and they don’t always manifest in this ring. Such is often the case with seers, and from your story you come across as one.”

“Should I do something to extinguish the light?” asks Morgana.

“Not necessarily. It’s quite pleasant, don’t you think? It will fade eventually.” 

Morgana smiles. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t fear this mysterious part of herself. She knows it can also be beautiful.

“The ring will help you if you wear it,” says professor Alice. “It’s an intermediary step. It will help you focus your powers and control them more easily for a time, but the goal is to learn to do it without the ring. If you decide to keep coming here, I can teach you healthy control, relaxation, and some handy spells.”

“So I can keep the ring?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for it,” the professor frowns, a bit apologetically, “it’s not covered by insurance.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Morgana hurries to her bag. “It’s just… I will have to justify wearing it somehow,” she says, embarrassed.

“Neither Gaius nor Uther know anything about the existence of my rings, if that’s what worries you,” says professor Alice. “You can easily pretend it’s a regular ring from your boyfriend, or girlfriend, or whomever.”

Morgana smiles to herself. She was never much into boyfriends, nor girlfriends for that matter. She was never much into romance at all.

“I’ll tell them it’s from Arthur,” she says. “My brother. He’ll cover for me.”

“Arthur?” professor Alice smiles in an odd, knowing manner. “That’s a very nice name.”

***

Merlin has some walking to do before he’s able to localize Arthur on one of the benches in the park.

The place isn’t big, but there is a pond and a fountain in the middle, and groups of kids are running around, shouting incessantly. People are playing frisbee on the grass, or sitting and talking, and there is quite an amount of runners as well.

But there aren’t that many solitary men in suits, stretched out on the bench and looking as if they were just about to jump into the pond, or have already done it.

“Hey,” Merlin says uncertainly, standing before Arthur.

He’s seen him only once in real life, and he feels like he’s known him for years. Still, for the last two days Arthur was just a voice in his head, and the picture Merlin remembers from their first meeting got a bit idealized in his imagination: a figure of perfect, golden stability, and a charming smile.

The man who’s sitting on the bench is a crushed dream.

Merlin can’t say if it’s all due to the latest distress, or if Arthur hasn’t slept well at night, but the colors that currently dominate on his face are pale whitish and violet-blue – save for his nose, which is rather triumphantly red. Merlin fights the urge to hug him.

Arthur doesn’t react to his greeting, so Merlin just sits beside him on the bench. When he does, he notices Arthur’s left wrist. Red burn marks indicate the spot where the invisible bracelet sits, and Arthur scratches them absent-mindedly.

Merlin has tears at the back of his eyes.

He feels guilty even for the revelations Arthur was subjected to today. He knows it’s absurd, he knows he has nothing to do with Uther Pendragon’s dark past, but he also knows his actions triggered the confession in the end. And that maybe Arthur was better off not knowing, after all.

“No, I’m glad I know,” says Arthur suddenly and Merlin reminds himself he’s been thinking intensely in Arthur’s direction. “Though glad isn’t a good word, I suppose.”

“Sorry,” says Merlin. “I will speak normally. No more weirdness.”

“Yeah,” Arthur makes a sound which probably was supposed to be laughter, but it comes out more like a cough. “Do you think I can hear you because of magic? Like, am I half-magical?”

“I don’t think so,” says Merlin carefully. “I think you’re either magical or you’re not. But I suppose there are better experts on that than me.”

“Like Aulfric?” asks Arthur wryly.

Merlin takes a breath.

“Listen, I’m sorry. At least try to see it from my perspective, will you? You deceived me. I was bloody scared and angry. If it happened to anyone else… but it happened to me, you know? Do you think that when I went to therapy, Gaius was a monster from the start? No, he gained my trust. And he then betrayed it. Do you know what it does to you, when someone betrays you like that? Do you have any idea?”

“As it happens, I do.”

Merlin opens his mouth.

“Shit. Yeah, right. I’m sorry. That was really dumb.”

“Yeah, it was.”

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Arthur laughs. It’s not like the previous laugh, the choking cough. It’s a real laugh, vigorous, his head bent over, his mouth wide open, laughing and laughing as if it was the last thing to do in the world. It’s infectious and after a moment, Merlin joins him.

“We are quite a pair, aren’t we?” says Arthur after some time, exhausted, tears in his eyes.

“Yeah, we are.” He looks at Arthur and the word _pair_ rings in his ears. But no, this is absurd. Not after what they’ve gone through. Not after the bracelets.

“So, no more lies, right, Merlin?” Arthur says. “I don’t know if you’d ever want to see me again, and I won’t be surprised if you don’t, but I promise you, I won’t deceive you anymore.”

“And I you.”

“A clean slate, then?”

“I suppose it’s not entirely possible,” mutters Merlin. “Not with those bloody bracelets. But we may at least try.”

They stay silent for a moment. Arthur scrapes the gravel with the soles of his shoes.

“Speaking of no lies, I have a confession to make,” says Merlin.

“Oh, God. I’m not going to like it, am I?” Arthur eyes him, his brow wrinkled.

“Probably not.”

“Shoot. Nothing can disturb me more than I am already.”

“I’ve seen your sister’s work. You know, cause of the breach. The stuff she did with this kid, Mordred. She’s a good person. Not like Gaius at all.”

“And that was your big revelation? Well, I suppose Morgana would be mad that you lurked at her work, but I really can’t care less now.”

“You know, I think you should talk to her about… your mum and stuff.”

“I will. But not yet. I guess she’ll have her own amount of rage to go through when Uther tells her. And he’ll have to, after today.”

For a moment, they don’t say anything.

“Do you want to meet her? Your mum?” asks Merlin timidly, staring at his shoes.

Arthur sighs. “I don’t know. I think I do, yeah. But I’m scared.”

“Understandable.”

“And I don’t even know where to find her. It’s not that my dad is ever going to tell me where she is.”

“Maybe there are other ways. We’ll think of something, Arthur.”

Arthur looks at him, narrowing his triangular eyes.

“We?” he asks. Merlin feels his ears go red a little.

“I’ll be happy to help,” he says. “I mean, I actually like you. I can’t believe it, but I do. Even when I was so mad at you, I think I didn’t stop. That’s why it was so awful. Granted, you’re a bit of a prat and too fond of spying, but I guess nobody’s perfect.”

“Says the man who reads my thoughts.”

“Oi! I didn’t know it would happen! Do you think I’d ever agree to that if I knew I could listen to your ungodly internal monologue? It’s really bad English, you know.”

“Do you really hear everything?” Arthur looks a bit horrified.

“No, don’t worry. Only the stuff you kinda… direct towards me. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Fair enough. You’re terrible at explaining things. But I like you too, God help me, I do.”

Merlin glances at Arthur. He seems casual about the whole thing, his smile half-mocking, but the way he said the words reminds Merlin of the other day, when he eavesdropped at Arthur’s conversation with Morgana. _God help me, I’m in love with him._ That was only yesterday! And it was all a lie, wasn’t it?

“You like me so much you told your sister you love me?” Merlin tries the question out, as if it was a new exotic sauce. It doesn’t feel right on his tongue, so the end of the sentence comes out muffled.

Arthur’s cheeks grow very pink.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I was supposed to stop doing that.” Merlin covers his own cheeks which must now be the color of a beetroot. “Only, this caused the whole… accident, you know, the heating, because I panicked, I thought you were going to tell her I was involved in the breech, and then you said this lie, and I didn’t know why…”

“You thought it was a lie?” Of all the questions, that’s the last one Merlin suspected Arthur of asking.

“I mean, it must have been, right? You had to think of something when she asked you why you broke up with Sophia.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So, was it?” I’m a sod, and a dick, and I should shut up now, thinks Merlin miserably, but for some reason, his mouth doesn’t want to listen.

“No more lies, eh?” Arthur laughs nervously. “Well then. It wasn’t exactly false.”

“…right.”

“I mean, I’m not _in love_ with you. That would be fucking mental. I’ve only known you for a week. And a half.”

“Yeah, of course.” Merlin feels everything going still inside him. Even his tamed, captive magic waits in anticipation.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not attracted to you, cause I really am, and that’s pretty messy, but I can’t help it, and you’re probably straight. There.” Arthur says it in one breath, and then pretends he didn’t say it – staring at his shoes, whistling preposterously, kicking a small stone on the path. Merlin’s heart melts.

“I’m not straight,” he says. “But I know this is messy.”

“You’re gay?”

“Yes.”

“Shit, that’s actually even worse.”

“I…” Merlin doesn’t even know what he wants to say, he just wants to say something.

“I should be going,” says Arthur abruptly, standing up. “Knowing my dad, he might have already changed the locks to my flat.” He pauses for a minute. “Shit, in fact, knowing him, he almost certainly did. Maybe I can sleep in my car.”

“Can’t you sleep at Morgana’s place? I mean, does she have her own flat?”

“She lives with Uther. Dad. It’s closer to her workplace. I bet she regrets it already.”

“I bet you do, too.”

“What I regret, is not finding a new flat before this whole bloody battle. Shit, I really need to go there. Check on things.”

“Let me go with you.”

Arthur actually looks at him as if Merlin was an idiot. As if Arthur hasn’t just admitted to fancying him.

“Are you mental? What if Dad’s there? What good will that do?”

“I can wait in your car. I just… I have an idea.”

“What?”

“I think… Jeez, it’s actually brilliant!” Merlin clasps his hands and wonders why he didn’t think of it earlier.

“Well? Will you enlighten me?”

“We can go to Ealdor. It’s fifty miles from the city. My best mate, Will, has a place there. Well, it’s more like a caravan, but cozy enough. It was his late dad’s, we used to go there for holidays. Point is, if I take off your bracelet after you’re packed and all, and then we hide them, and go to Ealdor, nobody will know where we are. Edwin and Sophia… well, they don’t know Will even exists. They won’t know where to find us at all. The last signal from your GPS would be from your flat, and my bracelet doesn’t have a GPS anyway, so they won’t know we’re together. We can lie low for some time there. We just need some money.”

“Merlin, you really are demented. How long do you think we can be there? Won’t this Will mind?”

“He’s my best mate. He didn’t even mind when I almost set him on fire.”

“I suppose that’s a story for another time.”

Merlin laughs. “’tis.” 

“But what about your mum? Does anyone know where you live? Can they threaten her, or something?”

Merlin frowns. “Edwin does. But he wouldn’t…”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, you know, with all the kidnapping and stuff.”

“Shit. Haven’t thought of that.”

“Can’t your mum go with us?”

“She has a job, you privileged prat. Shit. I don’t know. I suppose I should talk it over with her. Tell her that I went to the seaside. I used to do that sometimes, in autumn. The coast is beautiful. Mum’s great, she’ll understand. And she’ll tell it to Edwin if he asks, and it’ll buy us time.”

“You are completely crazy,” Arthur says, staring at Merlin. Somehow, this time, his face shows only pure fondness. “And you have no long-term plan whatsoever.”

“Who needs a long-term plan, when I’ll have my magic back soon?” Merlin says it and he means it. Only a few days ago, he wanted to quench his unpredictable powers forever. Now, he feels something great, something uplifting. It must be hope. This energy Arthur’s giving him, even when he’s having the worst day of his life… there is something mysterious about it. But Merlin doesn’t care. He just loves it.

But Arthur has a different problem. He looks down at Merlin’s hands. Only after a few seconds does Merlin realize that he spotted the bandages that still encircle Merlin’s wrists, covering the new cuts that appeared on them the day he learned of Arthur’s real identity.

Arthur moves his hands towards Merlin’s, but stops himself mid-movement.

“You quenched your magic to control me?” he asks quietly, his mouth twisting. “You’re mental, Merlin Emrys. Deranged.”

“Well, I first quenched it because I couldn’t even control myself,” Merlin says.

“I’m so sorry. So sorry,” Arthur whispers.

“I know you are. It’s in the past. We’re going to make everything all right again.”

 _And I’m going to go to an empty house with a guy who just told me he fancied me,_ Merlin thinks, and this thought is highly guarded. Also, very inappropriately arousing.


	10. Chapter 10

Uther hasn’t changed the locks. Not yet, at any case. He did a worse thing.

He sent Morgana to reason with Arthur.

As he stands in the door of his flat, Merlin waiting for him in the car parked outside (deranged, sloppy, mad, brilliant, beautiful Merlin who spent the whole drive home on the phone, talking to Will, calling him names, talking to his mum, telling her he loved her, fumbling with the coin-key that was supposed to unlock the bracelets, taking some money from the ATM “just in case”, and grinning to Arthur as if he was a simpleton, his eyes narrowing to dashes, tempting Arthur to just kiss his stupid face and mouth and neck and chest, and, good grief, he was going to some godforsaken bungalow with Merlin alone), Arthur looks at Morgana’s pale face and doesn’t know what question to ask first. _Did Dad tell you?_ seems reasonable, but it doesn’t want to come out of Arthur’s mouth; _what did he do to make you come here?_ is suitable for the state Morgana’s in, but it also might be a bit unfeeling, he now realizes. He’s going to refuse Uther’s offers, no matter what’s in them, he knows that already, but he can’t imagine how hard a time Morgana will have with their father if she comes back to their family home with nothing. All the time while he’ll be off to the blue, and with Merlin, at that.

When Morgana sees him, she just hugs him.

“I would have come anyway,” she says, “but Father made me try to convince you to come back.”

“I’m not going to.”

“And I’m not asking you to. I just came to see how you were.”

“How can I be? I had a dead mother who’s not dead at all, and a father who lied to me all my life.”

“Oh, Arthur. Come in. I’ll make you tea.”

“Tea’s the remedy, isn’t it?” Arthur smiles crookedly, stepping into the flat. “But I’m afraid I don’t have time for that. I’m leaving the city today.”

She gives him a shocked expression.

“What?? Where are you going? Don’t do anything stupid, Arthur, please.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it,” he half-laughs, rummaging through his flat. He always thought he didn’t have that many things. Now, as he pulls his suitcase from under the bed and tries to pack some clothes, he realizes how much junk he accumulated over the two years he’s been living there. “’m not going to kill myself, nor Dad. I’m not going to run away. Well, maybe a bit. It’s just…”

“Arthur. What is it?”

“’m afraid it’s rather complicated.” He opens the wardrobe, only to discover that, to his dismay, he can’t take all of his favorite sweaters. “And I can’t tell you where I’m going, in case Dad asks you. In fact, maybe you can stay here, in the flat? Always better than with Dad.” He tosses the things randomly into his suitcase, sits on it and closes it clumsily. He takes it and goes to the entrance.

“Arthur.” Morgana’s standing in the tiny corridor, blocking the door. “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”

Arthur’s chest deflates. He sits on the bed. Only now, the whole surge of adrenaline which his body accumulated during the ride home with totally inappropriately overexcited Merlin, disappears to leave Arthur weak-limbed and almost shaking.

“Uther isn’t coming here by any chance, is he?” Arthur asks.

“I certainly hope not. He still seems to trust me with things. Not for long now, I suppose.”

“Great.” Arthur takes his phone out of his jacket pocket and dials a number. “Merlin? Take your ass out of the car and come here. Now.”

***

It must be said, it took some persuasion to convince Morgana everything that happened in the last few days was actually true.

Arthur doesn’t necessarily blame her. If he was to tell himself just two weeks ago that he’s about to practically elope with a guy who was involved in a plot against him side by side with his ex-girlfriend who captured and drugged him, he wouldn’t believe it himself. 

“We’re not going to elope, Arthur,” says Merlin.

“What? I didn’t say we were.”

“You _thought_ it.”

“Oh, fuck off, you bastard. You were supposed to stop eavesdropping.”

For some reason, banter comes quite easy to them both. Since they left the park, their conversation has been a constant back-and-forth, and Arthur rather enjoyed it. It helped him take his mind off all the scary stuff. And there was quite a lot of that.

Morgana eyes Merlin cautiously. Arthur isn’t surprised she remains unconvinced – but he knows his sister well; it’s not only worry that lurks in her eyes.

“So, you’re telling me that when you take Arthur’s bracelet off, you can show me your magic?” she asks, rather unexpectedly.

“Oh, certainly,” says Merlin. “Though you’ll have to be cautious. It’s a bit… eruptive at times.”

Morgana nods.

“I know,” she says. “I know what happens to those who have their powers tampered with.”

“And I know what you do to prevent it.” Merlin grins at her. “I read your files. Sorry. Not gonna use it, so that you know. Mordred is safe. You’re doing a great job.”

She looks at him, her eyes wide open, and suddenly, she laughs. 

“You think it can work, what I’m doing?” she asks.

“I think it’s working already.”

“All right,” Arthur cuts them short, “nice bonding moment, I’m truly touched, but I think we have to get to business if we want to leave at all. Merlin, can you free me of this bloody bracelet once and for all?”

“Yeah. Right. Only,” Merlin is pensive, “we have to be careful. I called Freya when I waited in your car. She knows about the breech, but she never accepted the way it was conducted.” Merlin’s cheeks color a little. “She said she’ll try to put Aulfric and others off our scent. Still, when I take off the bracelets, Aulfric will know where you are immediately. I don’t think Morgana should stay here, if she’s to be safe.”

“We can always go out somewhere and do it there,” says Arthur.

“Doesn’t Sophia know where you live, anyway?” asks Morgana. “She can come here no matter what.”

“Shit, you’re right.” Arthur scratches his forehead. “You can’t stay here, then.”

“You can go to my mum…,” Merlin starts, before catching himself, “um, no, actually, you can’t. If Edwin comes there and sees you, we’ll be fucked. Unless you can hide in my closet. It’s a big closet.”

“Or, I can just come back home to Dad,” says Morgana, sourly.

“And face him angry?” Arthur objects. “No, I don’t want to do this to you, sis.”

“He can catch up with me at work if he wants to, anyway. No big difference, really.”

“You have to leave the city with us,” says Arthur.

As expected, Morgana shakes her head.

“I won’t abandon the kids. I won’t leave Mordred.” As she says that, Arthur notices Merlin’s looking at her with admiration. Good thing he’s gay, otherwise he’d fall for her on the spot, thinks Arthur, wincing as Merlin shoots him a quick glance and grins devilishly. What now, idiot? You know I fancy you anyway. No need to be so bloody happy about it.

“No, Arthur, it’s really all right,” Morgana continues. “I might have to pretend before Dad you left without telling me a word, but it’ll be all right. I have a bit more strength to do that now.” She brushes her black hair off her face and Arthur catches a glimpse of something metal, flashing briefly on her finger. 

“I didn’t know you were into rings, sis,” he says. 

She grins.

“Not into regular ones, no,” she says. “But this one is magical.”

Merlin’s head snaps upright at that. He looks closely at Morgana’s right hand, where a small, unimposing ring sits on her pointing finger, a subtle pattern on it glowing faint orange.

“It’s professor Alice’s ring!” Merlin exclaims. “How did you…”

“I am magical, too,” says Morgana in a clear voice, her chin up. “I went to meet her. She confirmed it.”

Arthur just looks at her.

She seems almost taller than usual. Confident. Comfortable in her own skin, the way he hasn’t seen her before. He only now realizes how often Morgana was unsure about herself in the past, how she lurked in the shadows when she was supposed to shine in full light.

If Arthur is to really hate Merlin for anything later on, it’s for being quicker than him. Merlin manages to step close to Morgana before Arthur even moves, and hug her tight, saying:

“Welcome to the club.”

Morgana is stiff in his embrace, but relaxes within seconds. She puts her hands on Merlin’s back and reciprocates the hug, playful sparks in her eyes.

“Hey, what about me?” asks Arthur, hating himself for sounding like a big child. Morgana laughs.

“Well, come here, you huge prat,” Merlin mumbles. “We can always make a threesome.”

“Oh, you’re disgusting,” says Arthur, fondly, and embraces them both. His arms are long enough to make it work. He buries his head between their arms. Morgana smells like home. Merlin, on the other hand… _You smell like a baby shampoo,_ he thinks at him, deliberately. Merlin’s shoulders shake with laughter.

And Arthur knows that, if it wasn’t for Merlin, he wouldn’t have been able to do it. To show his affection so easily. To be just simply happy in this one moment, without thinking about the future or the past, without any worry.

It’s because of Merlin. Merlin, who himself isn’t an oasis of peace. Who has his own problems, and many of them. But somehow, when they are together like that, they manage to make it work.

“Hate to break it to you, but we really need to be moving on,” Morgana mutters. “Dad might call me any minute to ask how it went.”

“What did he want to offer me, anyway?” asks Arthur, reluctantly pulling out of the group hug. “Or, did he just expect me to come back on my knees because he said so?”

“He wanted to tell you he’d give you your mother’s address if you come back and never question him again.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows.

“You almost didn’t tell me that.”

Morgana looks down, guiltily. 

“I thought it wasn’t fair to make such an ultimatum,” she mutters.

“So, you wanted to make the decision for me?”

She looks at Arthur, her eyes a bit wet.

“No. I just… I don’t know. What are you going to do, then?”

Arthur looks at Merlin and Morgana. For a moment, the happy atmosphere is broken. For a moment, Arthur senses Merlin worrying if Arthur isn’t going to come back to the company. For a moment, Merlin’s probably entertaining the thought that he shouldn’t take the bracelet off, after all.

When the moment passes, Arthur says:

“Do you think I can ever do that? Not to question him again? Maybe I could come back to work and sabotage it. But I can’t pretend I agree with Dad. Become his public face. That’s just awful.”

“What about your mum?” asks Morgana.

“Merlin said we’re going to find another way. So we will. You might try to help, if it won’t be too much at the moment. Gaius mentioned something about Mum’s cousin. Maybe they could be reached, somehow.”

“Or, maybe professor Alice knows something,” Morgana muses. “I’ll try to investigate.”

“Just be careful.”

Morgana gives Arthur a small smile. Merlin smiles in accord, the corners of his mouth going higher every second. Soon, his face would split.

“Get to work, Emrys,” says Arthur, trying to rescue him from muscle cramps. “Free me of this thing.” He raises his left hand.

“First, we have to turn off our phones,” says Merlin. “And we’ll have to keep it that way at least for some time, I’m afraid.”

“Do you have enough cash?” asks Morgana. “Here, Arthur, take some of mine. And I want to know how to contact you if… when I know you’re safe to come back.” Arthur senses a tremble in her voice.

“I’ll give you my mum’s number,” says Merlin. “Guard it with your life, will you? Ask her for Will, and tell her Merlin needs him. It’ll be safer that way. Also, here’s Freya’s number. She can be trusted. She’ll tell you what the others are planning.”

“Jeez, it’s really like a bloody spy movie,” says Arthur. “I’m almost excited.”

“Let’s hope it’ll end happily,” Merlin responds. “Now, to the bracelets.”

He takes something out of his pocket. It’s a coin of sorts, or, at least, something which strongly resembles it. Arthur vaguely remembers seeing one of those discarded somewhere at Magic Now offices. Only, this one is supposed to be special.

Merlin touches Arthur’s left wrist. With his hands, he locates the invisible bracelet. Arthur can’t help but bite his lip when Merlin’s finger brushes over his skin. It’s partly because the burn marks still sting a little. But not only because of that. Arthur knows it well, and doesn’t even try to deny it.

“One coin, two sides,” says Merlin, touching the bracelet with the coin-key.

There is a short click. And then, Arthur’s arm is free and a bit lighter. He doesn’t feel anything else. After all, there is no magic involved, not in his case.

He looks at Merlin as he unlocks his own bracelet. His brow is furrowed, and his expression stern as he says:

“Step back. This may get a bit over the top.”

They do as they’re asked. It wouldn’t be wise to argue with Merlin in such a moment.

The bracelet drops to the floor and Merlin’s eyes burn with gold.

For a moment, Arthur really thinks the man is putting himself on fire. There are flames all over him, flickering playfully, licking his arms and legs with its red tongues, jumping from head to toes. Arthur cries out, terrified. He puts his hand forward in an absurd attempt to rescue Merlin from his own magic, to pull him away from the flames. But Merlin’s voice comes from behind them clear and not pained:  
“It’s all right, Arthur. Step back.”

The flames don’t burn him. They are just an illusion, or maybe more than an illusion, but they aren’t deadly. Thankfully, nothing around Merlin catches on fire. And as Arthur observes him burning-not-burning, he almost feels something like a flicker of warmth under his own skin. Is it Merlin’s magic that touches him, or does it come from within himself?

After something like thirty seconds of this display, the flames disappear, and Merlin stands before them, grinning.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” he says cheerfully. “Though we may have some major or minor crises in the future.”

“No, you won’t,” says Morgana. She pulls her ring off her finger. “Take it, Merlin. I’m coming back to professor Alice’s office next week anyway. I’ll buy another one. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Merlin’s eyes flash gold again.

“I… Are you sure? Since I saw Gilli wearing it I wanted to have one of those… I couldn’t afford it.” His cheeks go red.

“Don’t be silly and take it,” Arthur says brusquely. “Or, do you want to set me on fire, too? Now, we really need to go.”

Merlin nods, suddenly in a soldier mode. He takes the ring without a word, only eyeing Morgana gratefully, and puts it on his finger.

Arthur says goodbye to Morgana, hugging her tight, takes his suitcase and puts his shoes on.

“Now, Merlin, I hope you know the way to whenever we’re going, because we’re definitely not using the GPS.”

***

They only manage to get lost two times, once when Merlin messes up east and west, and once when they take the wrong turn at the highway and have to drive on for a good few miles before being able to return to the right road.

“Can’t you use your magic for it, _Mer_ lin?” asks Arthur, a little irritated. They were supposed to be running away, dammit, not wandering around.

“Do you think I’m not using it? It’s already dark, and the last time I was in Ealdor two years ago, this road wasn’t even finished yet. How on earth am I supposed to remember everything?” Merlin answers grumpily.

“Oh, so your magic is as clumsy as you. Great.”

“You have a very weird way of saying _thank you for saving my ass._ ”

Arthur snorts. “I hope we don’t find this famed caravan place all rotting and full of rats,” he says.

“Really, Arthur? Your worldview is straight from a B-class movie. Gaius was right when he called you out on that.”

And then, Merlin reddens, because they both remember the conversation Arthur would rather forget, and also, that Merlin heard every word of it, which actually doesn’t seem that bad any longer, but Arthur frowns on principle.

“Sorry,” Merlin says.

Arthur could be mad at him. But this day has been rather too heavy on rage, and he’s tired of it.

“Really, Merlin, you accuse me of suspecting the worst? I’ve been actually kidnapped a few days ago. My life is a B-class movie.”

Merlin winces.

“Glad you can make jokes about it,” he says, quietly.

“It’s the best I can do.”

He drives in silence for a moment. Now, that the frenzy of action is mostly over and no one seems to be following them (not only did they turn off their mobiles, Merlin actually insisted on doing something magical to their car to change its color and plate, which Arthur was sure was illegal even if it was only an illusion), the gravity of the situation finally starts to settle in. Arthur has no idea how long they’d have to stay in this godforsaken place, or if they’d be able to come back to the city at all. It may be that Sophia’s revenge on Merlin wouldn’t know any bounds. Arthur shivers.  
And then he shivers again, because just for a very brief moment he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is all some overly elaborate plan concocted by Merlin to get him out, away from the city again, and enact some private revenge, something even Sophia or Aulfric didn’t think about. The idea lingers in Arthur’s mind for a moment as he drives down the road, the white pattern of lights looming over the car on the roadside, the dots of brightness disappearing behind them the second after they appeared.

“Arthur,” Merlin says beside him, his voice low. Arthur doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Arthur, you’re thinking at me again.”

“I thought it was supposed to pass as soon as you took the bracelet off,” Arthur mutters.

“Yeah, it was. But I can still hear you thinking.” And, after a pause: “You still don’t trust me.”

“Bloody hell, Merlin.” That’s the only thing Arthur is able to say. _Did you actually tamper with my brain_ hangs out there, somewhere in the back of his head, and Arthur is sure Merlin can hear it, too.

“Maybe it will fade after a time,” says Merlin. “I hope it will. If it doesn’t, you’ll have to learn to think inwardly.”

“What, scared of the white noise I produce in your head?”

“It’s a bit inconvenient, yeah.”

After a brief pause, Merlin adds:

“How clever you are. You think I took your bracelet off just because I want my magic back. To torture you, I presume? I could have done it with the bracelet, you know.”

“Yeah, but that was boring,” Arthur says. “And you were still under Aulfric’s control, at least nominally.”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

“I…” Arthur chokes on his words.

“I what?”

“…I can’t believe you have it in you, really. I know I’m not good with people, but…”

“Bollocks. You aren’t a genius, you got manipulated by Sophia, but with all honesty, she’s actually pretty good at lying. Her screwing you over doesn’t mean you aren’t good with people. Who told you that?”

“My father, mostly.”

Merlin sighs. “He’s wrong, you know. About many things.”

“Yeah, I know that now.” He actually knew it for a long time, deep down, now that he thinks of it. Only, he always tried to persuade himself that it wasn’t true.

They drive a bit in silence, Arthur looking at the road and Merlin out of the window. They are far away from the city now, and the landscape around them is an almost complete darkness, only the lamps on the roadside indicating the way, only the red car lights in front of them telling the direction.

“I really like driving at night,” says Merlin suddenly. “I like this darkness. Full of possibilities. It’s one of my earliest memories, actually. Me and Mum, going somewhere, or coming back from somewhere, my nose pinned to the car window. I believe it was raining back then. Droplets of water going down in odd patterns.”

“Was it always just you and your mum?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah. My dad left her even before I was born.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I don’t really miss him. That is, I guess I miss the idea of him. The idea of dad-ness.” He chuckles. “This hole can never be filled, but I guess other people could make up for that a bit. My mum’s great.”

For a moment, Arthur chances a glance at Merlin’s soft, gorgeous profile. The man is smiling, his feelings clear as day. The calm, simple happiness with which he said the words _my mum’s great_ make Arthur clench his jaw, an unpleasant pang of jealousy piercing his gut. All this – the easiness with which the feelings practically pour out of Merlin, for better or for worse – this is all because of this woman who raised him, supported him, fought for him when she had to. Merlin might be hurting, he might be in trouble, but he’ll never be hurting in silence. He’ll never be alone. For the second time in this long, long day, Arthur feels hot saltiness in his eyes, and he has to blink, lest the road ahead of him becomes blurry. He resents Merlin in this moment. Why was he given this solid stability, this unconditional love that was his mother, all the time when Arthur and Morgana had to survive in coldness, desperately trying to save each other from total misery? Arthur feels a desperate need to say something, to prove to Merlin that he isn’t some kind of a pathetic, unloved big child, to demonstrate his superiority after all.

“Well, I still remember my mum a bit,” he says, his voice intended to be lofty, but breaking into a half-sob instead. Plainly pathetic. He wishes they crashed into a tree.

He feels Merlin’s hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want a tissue?” asks Merlin quietly and Arthur nods. He capitulated. Merlin produces a tissue out of his pants pocket and Arthur carefully wipes his eyes and blows his nose single-handedly, trying to still focus on the road.

“It’s really okay to cry, you know,” Merlin says, “so long as you don’t cause some accident.”

Arthur smiles despite himself. “How long to this Ealdor?” he asks.

“I guess we’ll be there in half an hour. I’ll tell you where to drive off the highway.”

“See that you do. I don’t want another detour.”

After that, their conversation flows a bit more easily. They talk about their uni experiences, and how Merlin had always an extraordinary talent to be looked upon with suspicion by all his teachers, and how bored Arthur sometimes was at work; Merlin tells Arthur about Will whom he knew since they were babies, and even how he almost set him on fire once, in rather compromising circumstances; Arthur, in turn, tells Merlin about Gwaine and his famous bar marathons, and about his absolutely ridiculous high school crush on Benedict Cumberbatch. They laugh and they smile, they talk over each other and they catch themselves at saying the exact same words at the same time. The half an hour passes almost instantly, and this time, Merlin points to the right turn. After a quick ride through some country roads, a “WELCOME TO EALDOR” sign tells them they reached the destination at last.

“Will told me Matthew has the spare keys,” says Merlin when they park before one of the houses. In the lamplight, it looks like a regular cottage. Arthur can’t see any caravans in sight. “I hope he’s still awake.”

“Who’s Matthew?”

“The neighbor. I’ve known him forever.”

Matthew turns out to be still awake, though a bit grumpy. An unimposing man around thirty, he greets Merlin with reserved kindness and hands him the keys. Arthur stands beside the car and looks around.

“So, where is it?”

“Back yard. Take your things out of the car.”

Arthur takes his suitcase – it’s heavier than he imagined, and for a moment he wonders if Merlin’s going to steal his clothes, as he didn’t give himself any time to go back to his flat and pack anything. Arthur follows Merlin into the back yard and laughs when he sees the place.

“Shit, it _actually_ is a caravan,” he says.

“And what did you expect?” snorts Merlin, fumbling with the keys. “You thought it was some kind of an understatement? ’m sorry, but your palace isn’t ready yet, Your Highness.”

“Well, we’ll be cozy, that’s for sure.”

“When I was a kid, we used to stay here with my mum, Will and his dad, so really, Arthur, just stop being an entitled git.”

“Do we have anything to eat, by the way?” Arthur asks, stepping in. For a second, it’s completely dark, then Merlin turns on the light and he sees the tiny room with two compact beds and a miniature kitchen in the corner. Almost all of the equipment is in some shade of brown, or mustard.

“Will told me there are some preserves in the shelf over there,” Merlin gestures vaguely in the direction of the kitchen space. “Jam and pickled eggs, I believe.”

“Yuck.”

Arthur drops his suitcase on the floor – it seems to take half of the space in the tiny corridor – and closes the door behind him. 

Merlin turns and looks at him. Their faces are inches away, though Arthur doesn’t remember approaching Merlin.

The air between them is ripe with electricity. Merlin’s eyes are watery, big, and very blue, pretty even in the ugly faint light of the old lightbulb.

“I hope we won’t kill each other in here,” mutters Arthur to cut the silence. He’s out of breath.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, his voice a murmur. Arthur feels his cock stirring.

And then Merlin licks his lip anxiously.

Arthur pins him to the wall and desperately presses his lips to Merlin’s, kissing this wet ridiculous fullness. First, he kisses only the lips, then parts them with his tongue. Merlin stills, but only for a second, before reciprocating the kiss with such ferocity that it forces a soft moan out of Arthur’s mouth. Even through their messy kiss, he feels Merlin’s lips curving into a smile. Arthur bites on Merlin’s lower lip. This time, it’s Merlin who gasps.

“Feels good?” Arthur mutters, tracing Merlin’s chin and neck with his lips.

“Uhm… oh, yeah.” Merlin exposes his Adam’s apple, and Arthur thinks that he possibly, just possibly, might be going a bit crazy. He sucks on Merlin’s neck and bites. “Oh,” Merlin moans again. “Shit.”  
“I’ll need to go to some shops tomorrow,” says Arthur, in between kisses. He’s finished with the neck now, and reaches Merlin’s collarbone. “Hope they have lube. And condoms. Many condoms.”

“Presumptuous,” says Merlin, and Arthur wonders how on earth he’s able to say this long word while still gasping and moaning under his breath. “Arthur… I…”

“What?” Arthur says, reluctantly, and takes Merlin’s left hand. He sucks on his fingers. Merlin’s eyes roll under the closed eyelids. Briefly, Arthur touches the ring on Merlin’s pinky finger. It’s slightly warm, the pattern on it glowing orange.

Merlin slowly pulls away from him, takes a step back. He opens his eyes, and they are glowing gold.

“You don’t want it?” 

“No, I do…,” Merlin says, “only… I’m really inexperienced. And I mean it. Really.”

“So what?” Arthur shrugs. “We can take things slow.”

“And my magic…”

“You have the ring now. You didn’t seem to set us on fire when you changed the color of my car, or when you magicked the directions to Ealdor.”

“I know, but… it will help, I’m sure… still, there are so many emotions… it may be a bit too early for all of that, Arthur.”

And sure, Merlin’s voice is thick with emotion when he says it. Arthur looks at his face, flushed, at his swollen and parted lips, at the love bite he left on Merlin’s neck. His look is ravishing, and Merlin’s face turns even redder than before. His eyes really glow now, and so does the ring. Arthur squints, feeling that Merlin might actually blind him with the light.  
It’s only when Merlin suddenly laughs that Arthur dares to open his eyes fully again. Some unidentified shape blocks his vision and his nose is ticklish. When Arthur raises his hand to scratch it, there is a faint flutter. A butterfly flies to the ceiling, confused.

“ _Mer_ lin!” Arthur cries in wonder, tracing the butterfly’s movements with his eyes. He wants to add something like you really ARE a sentimental girl, aren’t you, Merlin? but he thinks better of it. As if a little sentimentality was bad. As if girls were bad. Morgana would skin him alive if he heard him speaking like that.

“I can’t believe you can just create it like that,” says Arthur instead, pinning his gaze to Merlin.

“You like it?” Merlin’s eyes are huge like a puppy’s, his face a boy’s face, and Arthur’s heart is totally, completely melted.

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful.”

Merlin steps closer and kisses him.

After a while much longer than any of Arthur’s kisses ever lasted, but still much too short for Arthur’s liking, Merlin pulls away and says:

“I do want it, Arthur. I think we just both need… some rest first.”

Arthur nods.

“You must be dead tired,” Merlin says. “And hungry. Come.”

“If it’s pickled eggs or your lips, then I’d rather starve, thank you.”

Merlin chuckles. “There is also jam. And maybe even cornflakes.”

“Wonders never cease.”

“And then, you can go shower, and…” Merlin stops, looking down, timid, ridiculously shy. “There are two beds in here, but no separate room, ‘m afraid.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry, I won’t press you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t let you anyway.”

As they finally go to the tiny kitchen-room and Arthur finally takes off his shoes, he thinks that he never lived through a weirder day in his entire life.

So it is really no wonder when at last, the whole day finally catches with Arthur. When he’s already full and clean, lying in one of the terribly uncomfortable camping beds, he starts crying, just like that, as if someone has opened the tap in his eyes. He’s not sure if Merlin’s asleep already, so he tries to muffle his crying, pressing a pillow to his mouth. It smells faintly of lavender and a little staleness.

“It’s all right, Arthur,” Merlin whispers. “You don’t have to hide it.”

Arthur curves into a little miserable ball and continues sobbing. It’s completely out of control now, but it’s so good, not having to hide it any more. Just being, just experiencing it. Such a weird mix of sadness and relief.

“Do you want me to…,” Merlin starts and stops himself. Arthur can’t really say anything at the moment. He’s past words, and even his thoughts right now are only a jumble of colorful emotions, and snippets of images. He pushes it all at Merlin, feeling vaguely guilty for overwhelming him.

Without a single word, Merlin steps out of his bed and squats beside Arthur’s, hugging him. Then, he lies beside Arthur, pressing his chest to his back, encircling him, his hand feeling for the rhythm of Arthur’s beating heart.

Arthur has no idea what’s going to happen next, but for once, he doesn’t want to think about it. He pushes away every fear and breathes evenly, focusing on the only reality he has right now. His steady breath; his tears; Merlin’s hands on his chest. Merlin is here. They’re both alive. They’re breathing. Merlin is here.

And Arthur knows that, no matter what, Merlin will be here.

With this thought, warmth encompasses Arthur and he drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hoped you enjoyed it.  
> The next part should be coming somewhere in January.  
> Have a very happy holidays / Christmas / Yule / Saturnalia!

**Author's Note:**

> You might have noticed that the whole magical thing in this fic resembles a lot the discourse that surrounds autism these days. That was deliberate. I'm autistic myself and, though magic as a metaphor for LGBT+ always worked for me well in Merlin, I thought it also works quite well for autism, though on a bit different level.  
> I hope you won't find it too heavy-handed :)


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